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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947367">How to Make Memories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda'>Captain_Panda</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Disney World! [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Disney World &amp; Disneyland, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:09:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Avengers' last day . . . in Disney World!</p><p>It's been three whacky, wild, and wonderful days in the most magical place on Earth--and now, it's time to say goodbye!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Disney World! [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How to Make Memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clambering over the mass of blankets, Steve bracketed them and pressed a kiss to the top of Tony’s hair.  Tony growled audibly.</p><p>“Good morning,” Steve said.</p><p>“Go away,” Tony replied in a low, warning tone.  He tightened the blankets around himself and added, “Get off.”</p><p>“Last day,” Steve reminded, “in Disney World.”</p><p>Tony seethed.  He actually hissed loudly, not unlike the racoon Steve had once cornered in the bin—and boy, that had been an excitement.  At least Tony did not have rabies.</p><p>Patiently, Steve planted his weight on elbows and knees, letting the implication of his weight press on Tony.  Tony whined, “You’re crushing me.”</p><p>“Am not.”</p><p>“God, I hate you,” Tony breathed, scrunching up into a ball underneath him, much like the racoon, who had glared at him with beady black eyes and chattering teeth.  “Time s’it?  Four-thirty?  Four-and-a-quarter?”</p><p>Steve looked at the nightstand where a clock might be, but there wasn’t one.  “Something like.”</p><p>Tony groaned.  “This your way of saying, <em>I’m bored, entertain me?</em>  Because I <em>will</em> make you sleep outside.  I will make you sleep on a bed of <em>coals</em>.”</p><p>Resting a bit more of his weight on Tony, Steve said, “Well, I thought I’d let you know.  I was thinking about making coffee, ‘cept there’s no machine, so I was gonna get coffee, but I didn’t want to leave you without sayin’ so.”</p><p>“Said so.  Congrats.”  Letting out the world’s most long-suffering sigh, Tony unfolded and grumbled again, “Off.”  This time, Steve moved, sliding down to sit at the foot of the bed on his heels, like a monk. </p><p>For a moment, he thought Tony might fall back asleep.  But Tony was a notoriously poor sleeper under the best of circumstances.  Once awoken, he rarely went back to bed.</p><p>“I hate you,” Tony grumbled.  Pushing back the blankets, he glared at Steve.  The murderous effect was flattened by his appearance: squinty-eyed and hair akimbo, he looked twenty years younger, devoid of true hatred.</p><p>“Sorry,” Steve said, somewhat insincerely.  He would gladly let Tony sleep in as long as he wanted at home, but he didn’t feel good leaving him alone in a foreign place, even if it <em>was</em> “the most magical place on Earth.”</p><p>Ignoring his faux-apology, Tony leaned over the side of the bed, searching for a bag that wasn’t there.</p><p>It was only fair that they were out-of-sorts: their stay at the Cinderella Castle Suite had come upon them unexpectedly.  Only an overnight duffel bag had made the journey from their suite at the Polynesian Village Resort to the Magic Kingdom theme park. </p><p>It had been kind of Clint to pack the bag and bring it to them.  Steve still understood Tony’s disgruntled disarray.  Neither of them enjoyed being caught off-guard.  Nothing said <em>off-guard </em>like finding something absent in the early morning.</p><p>Recovering quickly, Tony redirected his focus: “What time <em>is </em>it?”  Approaching a tipping point, he suddenly snatched up his phone and groaned, “Oh, God, Steve, it’s <em>five</em>.”  Still slumped over the side, he said, “I am going to dye your suit <em>magenta</em>, you hear me?”</p><p>Actually apologetic, Steve began, “Gee.”  He proposed: “Why don’t you go back to sleep—”</p><p>“<em>Puce</em>,” Tony grunted.  Nearly toppling over, he bleated, “Little <em>help</em> here.”</p><p>Sweeping in, Steve set him back on the bed.  Tony flung the covers away, then gave a full body quake as the cooler air of the suite hit him, one hand rising to cover his arc reactor protectively.  “Please get me a,” he began, but Steve had already whisked away, returning with a robe embossed with a golden <em>C</em>. </p><p>Slipping it on, Tony exhaled, “See that window?”  He pointed at the wall.  Steve looked.  Through the narrow, stained glass windows, Steve could discern that it was still dark outside.  Tony elaborated, “See how <em>dark </em>it is?”</p><p>Truly sorry, Steve admitted, “I thought it was at least six.”</p><p>“The sun is up at six,” Tony grumbled, burying his face against the robe’s fabric.  “They really skimp on laundry,” he acknowledged.  “You’d think that they’d break bank <em>somewhere</em>.”</p><p>“Well,” Steve said, rubbing his back, spreading warmth.  Tony melted; Steve relaxed, too.  “Most people probably don’t even know they’re missing out.”</p><p>“Excuses,” Tony grumbled, arching and pushing back against his hand.  “You owe me <em>so much</em>, mister.  Five.  <em>Five</em>.”  Hunching forward, he planted his head in his hands.  Steve shuffled around Tony, straddling him from behind so he could use both hands to rub his back.  “How long’ve you been up, huh?  You even go to sleep?”</p><p>It was a fair question.  They had had a late night, but Steve had gotten in his licks.  He only needed about two hours a night.  It wasn’t uncommon for him to sleep two or three cycles, which still gave him time to fold laundry at four AM while Tony bemoaned early mornings at six-fifteen.</p><p>Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Steve said, “Uh-huh.”  Gentle, aware that firm pressure from his hands could bruise, he dug his thumbs along either side of Tony’s spine through the thin fabric of the robe.  “Don’t need much.”</p><p>“Lucky <em>you</em>.”  Leaning into his hands, Tony said, “Gettin’ spoiled with these.  Two in one week.  It my birthday?”  He yawned.</p><p>“Something like,” Steve repeated, smiling to himself, rubbing the back of Tony’s shoulders in the way that all but made him purr.  “You’re not usually around,” Steve added, “by the time I get up.”</p><p>“Whose fault is that?” Tony grumbled, but he didn’t stiffen up, melting like butter with each warm stroke.  “Keeping you around for one thing.  One thing only.”</p><p>“One thing only, huh?” Steve echoed, amused.  “Gee.  I feel special.”</p><p>“You should.  I don’t let anyone do this.  I have the Midas touch.  You’ll live an extra thirty years for this,” Tony said, yawning between every other sentence.  “I’m so tired my tongue hurts.”  Rolling laboriously away from Steve, he added, “All right, I gotta get up; I need coffee or I’m actually gonna be sick.  Your people disgust me.”</p><p>“My people?” Steve asked, rolling more smoothly to his feet.</p><p>“Yeah, morning people,” Tony called, ambling off while Steve stripped the bed absentmindedly.  “Cretin.  I’ll sue you.  I’ll <em>win</em>.  I should, just for that.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes fondly, Steve echoed, “Uh huh.”  Tony Stark was certainly a different person at different hours, ranging from con artist to dynamo to architect.  He maintained a sparkling veneer of <em>showman </em>over his midday looks, but after-hours, he didn’t bother with niceties.  Steve loved it.  “Don’t fall,” he added when he heard a loud <em>thump</em> as something collided with a door.</p><p>“I have the balance of a <em>gazelle</em>,” Tony grumbled back.</p><p>“Don’t overbalance, then,” Steve replied breezily. </p><p>Finishing up with the bed, Steve looked around for more tasks, but he’d already gone over the entire suite in the wee hours: sorted their overnight bag and little blue park-backpack, tidied up the parlor, even made the second bed that they had filched blankets from.  Cleaning was comforting to him: whether it was polishing the old girl or sweeping the floors, he liked fixing things up.  It was one of the few things he and Tony had in common, he joked, whenever Tony asked why he couldn’t let the Roombas do their job.</p><p>Returning to their bag, he asked Tony, “Whaddya need?”</p><p>In response, Tony whistled and snapped his fingers.  Steve took the summons for what it was.</p>
<hr/><p>Walking hand-in-hand through the Magic Kingdom, their designated Disney escort in sight but out of earshot, Tony asked unexpectedly, “Do you remember our first date?”</p><p>Steve cocked his head.  “Yeah,” he said.  “You said I buttoned my shirt like a man who had an irrational fear of hernias.”</p><p>“I,” Tony huffed, reaching over automatically to untuck Steve’s long-sleeved shirt like it had not occurred to him until then that it <em>was</em> tucked, “was thinking more of the scenery, but thank you for the reminder of how much you’ve learned.”</p><p>“You also said if you saw an ankle before I turned thirty-five, you’d consider it cradle-robbing,” he added, amused at the memory.</p><p>Tony’s ears reddened.  “Well, I stand by that,” he huffed.  “And now you’re stuck with me,” he added, a touch moodily, squeezing Steve’s hand, the black engagement band on his left hand pressing warmly against Steve’s palm.  “Anything else?  I point out the lettuce in your teeth?”</p><p>“There was lettuce in my teeth?”</p><p>“Seems like it would only be so,” grumbled Tony.</p><p>Drawing him close, Steve pressed his nose against Tony’s temple in an implied kiss.  “I love you,” he promised.</p><p>“I know,” Tony said, making a show of dismissal as he pawed Steve’s face away, but his ears were even redder, pleased.  “Stop it.  Instagram will eat that up.”</p><p>“Who’s gonna see it?” Steve asked boldly, reeling him in, pulling him up short.  In the full light of day, their playful visual banter was in plain view, but the park was entirely empty but for cast members operating behind-the-scenes.  Swaying, he added, “You said the Park was pedestrian and the Zoo was unfinished, so you took us to that bar.”</p><p>“Best burgers,” Tony said promptly, defensively.  He let Steve guide their movements, something he might never tolerate under full daylight, let alone with a real audience.  Steve would flick a quarter to their Disney escort, Stanley, who had made a point of turning to watch the ducks flow under a bridge, granting them the illusion of true privacy—he would flick the man a quarter in thanks, if such a thing was still worth a thing.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agreed.  “Swear to God, they made us wait two hours for ‘em.”</p><p>“It’s why they’re the best,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes like Steve had missed the punchline, <em>again</em>.  “I thought <em>you</em> of all people would have patience.”</p><p>“I didn’t think <em>you </em>would,” Steve said, grinning like a fool.  Steve held up his arm, still holding onto Tony’s hand.  Tony gave a single, slow spin, fixing Steve with a look that said, <em>All right, now I want my treat</em>.</p><p>Steve didn’t budge.  Instead, he took Tony's other hand and danced with him, the strains of a familiar tune filling Main Street.  Not just a familiar tune—an <em>old </em>tune, a melody he had not heard in . . . ten years?  Fifteen?  “I know this one,” he said, amused.  “I <em>know </em>this one.”  It was on the tip-of-his-tongue, something he’d heard, once, long ago, but. . . .</p><p>“Yeah, they really dug deep for ‘em,” Tony said, swaying like a palm tree, feet planted, refusing to give ground.  “Lotta things I’m learning here from you, Mr. Presumptuous.”</p><p>“Nothin’ you didn’t already know,” Steve said, rocking to and fro, giving up on the song and basking on the red-paved street in the early light of pre-dawn.  “I don’t know anything about you, Tony.  Not really.  I mean, I know your favorite color, and I know how you like your coffee, and I know what you do to doors that won’t open for you when you’re drunk as a skunk—”</p><p>Making a pained face, Tony rolled his eyes as Steve reeled him in close, grumbling, “’S way too hot for hugs.”  He didn’t try to pry free as they swayed together, though, slotting his own hands around Steve’s waist, rocking with him more freely.  “See if I share life experiences with you,” he added peevishly.</p><p>“I know how to fill out an entire <em>book</em> with Tony Stark things,” Steve went on, one hand behind his shoulders, the other clasped in his, “and I still don’t know how today’s gonna go.  Ain’t that special?”</p><p>Tony said nothing for a moment.  Then he reiterated, “I’m literally cooking,” and Steve smiled, releasing him.  Tony held on, making a point.  “Don’t be coy, you know how brilliant I am, you’ve seen me win every <em>Jeopardy </em>night five years in a row.  I will not have my achievements go unnoticed any longer.”  Pulling away, Tony slipped a hand into Steve’s and tugged him towards Tomorrowland, indicating, “Coffee first, then the day’s yours.”</p><p>“Starting in Tomorrow, huh?” Steve mused, swinging their hands.</p><p>Tony sighed.  “It’s too early to rhapsodize.  I am not drinking Starbucks’ coffee.  There’s coffee outside <em>Space Mountain</em>.”</p><p>“I’m very proud of your <em>Jeopardy </em>achievements, Tony,” Steve said, clearly and with what he hoped was the right amount of gravity.</p><p>Tony said, “Good; you should be,” which was code for <em>Coffee in mouth please</em>, but he held onto Steve’s hand despite the rising heat of the day.  Steve considered it a success.</p><p>“What were <em>you</em> thinking of?” Steve asked once they were seated on a gray stone bench sipping fresh cups of java.  Together, they basked in the sun rising splendidly over <em>Space Mountain’s </em>white spire.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“About our first date,” Steve prompted.</p><p>Tony slurped coffee loudly.  “No idea,” he deflected.  Then, in characteristically quick about-face, he added, “‘You’d look better in briefs,’” just to make Steve laugh.  Which he did.</p>
<hr/><p>“God,” Tony said, standing in the middle of the empty land, holding both of his hands, squeezing them as tightly as he could, “I don’t wanna leave.”</p><p>Blinking, surprised at the declaration, Steve reminded, “Day’s just got started, Tony.”</p><p>“I know,” Tony said, looking around and saying, “but it’s almost over.  Y’know?”  Letting go, he spun in a slow circle, holding his arms out to their full span and saying, “It’s already tomorrow.  Tomorrow, we’re back home.  You think about that yet?”</p><p>“You wanna ride something?” Steve asked, still seated on the stone bench, amusement and fondness coloring his tone.</p><p>Tony shook his head, then held up his flat palm to halt him, indicating, “I’m having a moment.  I have <em>Disney World </em>to myself.  This is the most . . .”  Shaking his head, he gestured eloquently around himself.  “This might be the most <em>surreal </em>thing I’ve ever done.  This week.  This hour.”  Hopping up onto a bench, he looked meaningfully to the west, but their Disney escort merely waved cheerfully from his seat behind a souped-up golf cart.  “This minute?” he tried.  “This whole week has been. . . .”  Hopping down, he grunted and said, “I don’t know if I have the capacity to ride anything.  I’m just . . . we’re <em>here</em>.”  Blowing out a breath, he said, “Why aren’t <em>you</em> over-the-moon?”</p><p>Cocking his head, Steve said, “I’m happy.”</p><p>“No, I mean. . . .”  Gesturing, Tony explained, “<em>Wowed</em>.  This does nothing for you?  I swear you’re more impressed by my suits, and you’ve seen them a million times.”</p><p>“Can’t undersell ‘em,” Steve said, stretching his legs out, resting his hands on either side.  “One in a billion.”</p><p>“Back when a billion was an absurdly huge number,” Tony said, with an irreverent, self-satisfied smirk.  Sitting on the ground, cross-legged like a kid, Tony looked up at Steve from the center of the utterly empty sidewalk and said, “Look at me.  I’m impeding traffic.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re really causing a scene,” Steve drawled.</p><p>“I am <em>completely </em>infringing upon the enjoyment of other vacationers,” Tony agreed breezily.  He seemed radiantly happy.  Steve could not help but grin in response.  “I hate you so much.  I don’t even know how to exact revenge for this.  You’d wear a magenta suit.  Breast cancer awareness is in October.  Jump the bandwagon.”</p><p>“I thought it was pink,” Steve said.</p><p>“Oh, you’re <em>learning</em>,” Tony drawled. </p><p>Stanley puttered over, but maintained a respectable distance as he called out, “Everything okay, gents?”</p><p>“Hey, Stanley, what’s your favorite ride in Disney World?” Tony asked.</p><p>Stanley grinned like he’d been asked to tell his favorite joke.  “<em>Soarin’</em>,” he said at once.</p><p>Tony grinned, the nearest to a spontaneous laugh he came in public spaces as he said, “Really?”  It was located in EPCOT, Magic Kingdom’s sister park—one of four land parks and six overall theme parks that comprised Walt Disney World.  There were two water parks that, with names like <em>Blizzard Beach </em>and <em>Typhoon Lagoon</em>—they could manufacture <em>hurricanes</em> now?—appealed little to the cold- and water-aversive members of their party.</p><p>“Guilty as charged,” Stanley said ruefully.  “I do like the <em>Jungle Cruise</em>.  My Pop and I used to ride it when I was a kid.  Good memories.  <em>Space Mountain’s </em>a classic,” he added, nodding at it.</p><p>“But <em>Soarin’</em>,” Tony reminded.</p><p>“<em>Soarin’</em>,” Stanley agreed wistfully.  “What a dream, to fly.”  Then, eyes sparkling, he added, “Not such a dream in your world, eh?”</p><p>“You know,” Tony said, scraping himself off the pavement with a huff of exertion, “it’s nice when it’s someone else’s dream.”  Dusting his shorts off, he said, “We’re really snubbing our noses at the greatest opportunity of a lifetime?”</p><p>“I mean, there’s a few things you <em>gotta </em>do, when you got the park to yourselves,” Stanley said.</p>
<hr/><p>Tony said, “This thing stinks.  I mean that literally.  Also, you’re a terrible driver.  Go faster.”</p><p>“Tony, this is as <em>fast </em>as it <em>goes</em>,” Steve said, foot depressing the pedal-to-the-metal as they skidded along the empty <em>Tomorrowland Speedway</em>, one hand keeping the wheel rigidly in place.  “Why am <em>I </em>the one <em>drivin</em>’—”</p><p>“Nuh-uh, you wanted to do this,” Tony said.</p><p>“I did <em>not</em>,” Steve huffed, as their car bucked to the right unexpectedly.  “Could it be any jerkier?”</p><p>“Well, yes,” Tony said, taking the wheel and making a hard left, smacking them into the embedded bumper.  “There.”  The car puttered forward, thunking against the barrier until Steve regained control—barely.</p><p>“This is <em>fun</em>?” he asked.</p><p>“Hey, this was built in <em>1971,</em>” Tony said, holding up his phone as they puffed down an open stretch, car sputtering at a speed that was above a jog but well below Steve’s preferred running clip.  “This is your <em>future</em>!”</p><p>“It stinks!” Steve echoed.</p><p>“Yeah, well, you deserve this,” Tony said, grinning toothily as he flung an arm around Steve’s shoulders and ordered, “Smile!  You’re on TV!”</p><p>“I’m driving!” Steve replied.</p><p>“Let off the gas,” Tony instructed, kicking his foot off the pedal.  They sputtered to an equally abrupt halt.  Even Steve laughed.  “Okay, <em>now </em>smile, Scrooge,” he added.  Steve gave the camera his sternest look. </p><p>“That’s going in the Christmas album,” Tony beamed, smashing the gas pedal and reclaiming the steering wheel with one hand as Steve leaned back to let him take over.  “Here, you take one,” he added, handing Steve his expensive, delicate phone.</p><p>“Um,” Steve began, holding onto it with both hands as they jerked again.</p><p>“Don’t drop it,” Tony warned, jerking them again, grinning like a fool.  “I mean it.”</p><p>“Will you—<em>hey</em>,” capturing the wheel, Steve huffed, “I know how you drive.”</p><p>“Do you?” Tony feigned.  “There’s no <em>laws </em>on the <em>Tomorrowland Speedway</em>.”  Compressing the pedal, speeding up their vehicle to its dubiously impressive maximum velocity, he added, “This is a dinosaur.  I hate it.  I love it.  I don’t even know what I feel about it.  Switch seats with me, I need to decide.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Steve said emphatically.  “Tony, will you—”</p><p>“Hey, don’t drop my phone,” Tony reminded, taking it from him and returning the wheel.  “Here, you drive.”  Leaning almost out of the vehicle, he added, “I’m capturing this for posterity.”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve grumbled.</p><p>“I’m not here, act natural,” Tony instructed.</p><p>“This <em>car </em>won’t <em>steer</em>,” Steve insisted as they hit the bumper again.</p><p>“Sure, blame the tools,” Tony encouraged.  “Doing great, Gramps.  First time you’ve driven in, what, six months?”</p><p>Aware that he was on camera, Steve grumbled, “Tony, this is not a real car.”</p><p>“Of course it is.  Hey, look, you’re the fastest one on the track,” he added, pointedly spinning around to show the empty road behind them.  “Smokin’ ‘em, Gramps.  You’ll be a NASCAR driver in no time.”</p><p>“What on God’s green Earth is a Nascar?” Steve asked seriously.</p><p>Deliberately putting Steve back in frame, Tony said, “Gramps, you’re aging me again.”</p><p>“Tony, <em>you’re </em>older than me,” Steve grumbled.</p><p>“I’ve failed your reeducation.  That’s all I’m gathering,” Tony said.  “Do you seriously not know what it is?”</p><p>“A type of car,” Steve said.</p><p>“No,” Tony replied.</p><p>Letting their disagreeable little car putter to a halt, Steve looked right at him and his little phone-camera until Tony finally clicked it off and lowered it, grinning unapologetically.  “C’mon, can’t sit on the tracks,” Tony said, taking over again, mashing down the pedal.  “This is the longest race I’ve ever been in.  And I’ve <em>actually </em>been in races.  I’d smoke you.”</p><p>“I thought smoking was illegal,” Steve grumbled.  His reeducation had not been a <em>total </em>flop—it sure had been memorable when Tony had yelled, snatched the cigarette from his hand, and doused him in <em>fire extinguisher foam</em>, before he’d even lit up.  And then, he’d just been trying to be <em>friendly</em>, approachable.</p><p>“Patently,” Tony agreed.  “It’s an expression.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Steve grunted.</p><p>“Sour grapes,” Tony said, elbowing him.  “This is <em>fun</em>.  Isn’t it?  Fun for the whole family.”</p><p>Grunting, Steve said, “I do not like this ride.”</p><p>Laughing, Tony said, “Aww, but you’re a whiz at it.  Look.  No hands!”  Leaving the gas pedal on the floor, he added as they bounced off the bumper, “Better steer, Gramps, be a bit bumpy if—”</p><p>Sighing dejectedly, Steve took the wheel.  “Is this bonding?” Steve asked.</p><p>Pinching Steve’s nose briefly, Tony said, “Absolutely.”  Taking a picture of Steve behind the wheel, he added delightedly, “A natural.  Can I get your autograph?  You’ll be a racetrack legend someday.  A <em>NASCAR </em>legend.”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve pleaded.</p><p>“No, this is revenge,” Tony beamed.  Nearly unbuckling himself to fumble in his pocket, he pulled out a folded-up map, snapped it open, and said, “What’s the most obnoxiously Disney ride in this park?  We’re doing that next.”</p><p>“<em>Tony</em>.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Well?” Stanley asked hopefully, standing next to their golf cart at the ride’s exit.</p><p>“<em>Delightful</em>,” Tony said, smiling and elbowing Steve, whose sourness must have shown on his face as he maintained stoic silence and clambered reluctantly into the back of the golf cart, facing away from the wheel.  “What’s next?”</p><p>“Oh, of course,” Stanley said, beaming.  “This one’s a real treat.”</p><p>“Hear that?” Tony asked, turning around in the front passenger’s seat to ruffle Steve’s hair.  “This one’s a real treat.”</p><p>Sighing, Steve said, “Grand.”</p>
<hr/><p>“One day,” Tony Stark had prophesied, two years and some months ago, “I’m gonna take you to Disney World, and I’m gonna turn you loose, and I’m gonna watch it blow your <em>mind</em>.”</p><p>Enjoying pizza at Totonno’s, the statement had seemed out-of-the-blue.  Little had Steve known, it had also been out-of-season: with its home in the Sunshine State, the Floridian hot spot could not have less closely resembled Coney Island in the dead of winter.  But the gleam in Tony’s eye had assured that a future visit was not a matter of <em>if </em>but <em>when</em>.</p><p>Then Tony had rhapsodized for well over an hour about its sister in the West, Disneyland.  Recalled through the lens of a child, he had spoken of clopping horses and melting ice cream and the kind of heat that reptiles basked in and his mother called <em>picnic perfect</em>.  He had described his mother’s hand gripping his own as they jounced along a lively attraction based on an explorer named Indiana Jones; he had spoken, too, about his Howard Stark bedecked in a three-piece suit and broad-rim hat, squinting grimly at Sleeping Beauty Castle and declaring it, <em>Somewhat abominable</em>.</p><p>Blocked by a forest of knees, six-year-old Tony had admitted that he had not seen it yet, at which point his father had turned to him, lifted him up, and asked, <em>Wouldn’t you agree?</em>  Tony had concurred, even though, in his recollection, his focus had clearly been more on the unexpected contact than any castles.  Brief though it had been, the moment had resonated across the years, one of the few and far between father-son moments that Tony had ever shared with Steve.</p><p>It had been then and there that Steve had decided that he wanted to see the place that could inspire notoriously ambivalent Howard Stark to act fatherly.</p><p>Sitting in the back of the golf cart, gazing out at the empty Magic Kingdom at dawn, Steve Rogers could understand what might make even a sour man smile. </p><p>It wasn’t Disneyland, but it was Walt’s <em>Magic Kingdom</em>.  The sense-memory similarities were rampant.  From the streetlamps to the music played throughout the park, it all stirred up <em>something</em>.</p><p>Even so, the attractions varied substantially.  Walt Disney World was decisively larger, incorporating three additional land parks: futuristic EPCOT, Animal Kingdom, and Hollywood Studios.  Disney World also boasted two water parks.</p><p>With cold- and water-aversive members in their party, <em>Blizzard Beach </em>sounded ghastly.  Steve could not fathom why anyone would want to visit <em>Typhoon Lagoon</em>—manufactured hurricanes sounded <em>dreadful</em>. </p><p>It was as sure a sign as any that he was getting older: he could no longer understand why such thrills appealed to the irreverent youth.</p><p>He could concede that a dip in the pool held a certain appeal with June knocking at their doorstep—especially while wearing his trademark long-sleeves and pants. </p><p>He felt a bit like a stick-in-the-mud, but he had endured worse.  Even at the beach, no self-respecting gentlemen wore his pants above his <em>knees</em>.  It was indecent, not something one did in a place full of young families. </p><p>At least his consideration was not thankless: it protected his fair Irish skin against the one thing the serum could <em>not</em>.</p><p>Tony was also overdressed, but he had the opposite circulatory problem as Steve and the benefit of the undersuit, besides, which was so good at temperature regulation that he got <em>cold</em> if the thermometer dropped below room temperature.  He called it “low-grade caffeine:” while not quite a kick in the step, it made him conversational when his peers would have been begging for a water cooler.</p><p>As they spun away from Tomorrowland, one of six themed lands in the Magic Kingdom—six spokes to the wheel, the easternmost aglow with the rising sun—and veered towards the North, Fantasyland, he thought, <em>The future is a strange place</em>. </p><p>It wasn’t the grandiosity that his peers had once imagined, eighty years ago.  There weren’t flying cars and fully autonomous robots assisting with everyday living, but there <em>were</em> machines in every facet of everyday life.  The wheels under his feet and the rides surrounding him, every inch of the proverbial skyline, bespoke one word: <em>futuristic</em>.  Even the clunky little racetrack car <em>was</em> a novelty—one he had been spoiled out of appreciating.</p><p>There would have been a day, not six years ago, when such a thing would have knocked his socks off.  A pang of apology swept through him at the realization that he had become immune to such carnie tricks.  He no longer accepted outdated novelties as futuristic wonders.  He looked forward to front-row seats, to headliner attractions; he had no desire to be handed old toys, to be consigned to a dinosaur’s land of unremarked-upon things.</p><p>Steve Rogers could tell when the wool was being pulled over his eyes.  He had become, dare he say, <em>indulged</em>, after five years of going steady with the world’s richest man.  Looking around the Magic Kingdom, he wondered if he had failed to appreciate the park, if he had not blown it off as some imitation game, unintentionally comparing it to other experiences.</p><p>It wasn’t a <em>sports </em>car, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a fun thing to <em>do</em>.  There had been a time when he would have paid good money to ride the ricketiest machine in the amusement park.  When he would have <em>paid</em> to throw out his back.  Now, he didn’t even have to worry about such a thing, not in Tony’s company—if anything, <em>he </em>should look after Tony, well-aware that Tony pushed his own limits, saw lines in the sand and said, <em>What if the waterline’s that much farther out?</em> and kept pushing it—but he had become, in some small way, accustomed to the new normal.</p><p>By Gosh, he had mucked up.</p><p>Determined to show up <em>decently </em>this time around, he was glad he had decided to put a good face on it when Stanley pulled up to their next destination.</p>
<hr/><p>Because he was being cosmically punished.  Steve was absolutely sure of it.</p><p>“I thought you didn’t <em>like </em>spinning rides,” Steve reasoned, resisting the urge to dig in his heels as they approached the cartoon-y elephants.</p><p>“Hate ‘em,” Tony agreed, hopping aboard and scooting over, patting the seat next to him.  “C’mon, I’ll let you drive.”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve pleaded.</p><p>Tony patted the seat firmly.  Steve gave in.</p><p>To say it was a snug fit was an understatement.  They both hung an arm over the baby elephant’s sides for added room.  Family-style, Tony secured a single outsized strap across their laps, identical to the one on the <em>Tomorrowland</em> <em>Speedway</em>.</p><p>Steve was sure his expression conveyed his moroseness at their predicament because Tony took one look at him and grinned.  “Don’t tell me you get motion sickness.  You rode <em>Test Track </em>six times.”</p><p>“I don’t think that was by choice,” Steve couldn’t help but say.</p><p>Once the ride attendant was satisfied they would not be prematurely deboarded and had returned to his station, Tony said, “Tell you what, you can pick the next one.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Tony nodded once regally.  Gripping a metal lever near their knees, he instructed, “Don’t let it fall.”</p><p>“What happens if it falls?”</p><p>“<em>Don’t let it</em>,” Tony repeated.</p><p>Somberly, Steve took a hold of it.  The bar was clearly locked in place.  “Seems easy enough.”</p><p>“Just wait,” Tony instructed.</p><p>Unable to drape an arm around Tony’s shoulders, Steve focused on the scenery instead.  Their circle of baby elephants had gathered in a shallow moat around a large fountain feature.  Splashed in red, gold, and blue, the Big Top structure was somewhat overwhelming to look at, covered in decorations ablaze in morning light. </p><p>Refocusing on the gray skin of their broad-eared mount, Steve observed, “This is the oddest ride I have ever been on.”</p><p>“Just wait,” Tony repeated.</p><p>A high-pitched voice that could not have belonged to their ride attendant piped in cheerfully overhead: “<em>This is your ringmaster, Timothy Mouse!  To make sure your flight’s a safe one, be sure to stay seated with your seatbelt fastened, keeping your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside.  And be sure to watch your kids!</em>”</p><p>Cold swept over Steve.  “Flight?” he repeated.</p><p><em>“To make Dumbo fly higher, just raise the magic lever right in front of you.  Everybody ready?  Then get ready to take off with the world’s only flying elephant—Dumbo!</em>”</p><p>Before Steve could begin to form an opinion beyond, <em>It </em>flies?, the elephants marched forward—and up, up, and <em>away</em> they went.</p><p>Frozen in place, metal lever gripped tightly in hand, the rushing sound of water underneath them, the words <em>don’t fall</em> his only objective as their strange little almost-plane got going, Steve didn’t startle when Tony nudged him and said, “Hey, look.”  He refused to relinquish the lever when Tony nudged his hand, but when Tony said again, “<em>Look</em>,” he forced himself to look up, and saw what Stanley meant about attractions worth experiencing this early.</p><p><em>Dumbo</em> offered a picture-perfect view of the Magic Kingdom—the best view of the Magic Kingdom, bar none. </p><p>Awash in light from rustic red Frontierland in the West to pristine white Tomorrowland in the East, Steve found himself stricken with a different feeling: warmth plowed through him; relief caught up in his throat.  The sight was stunning, all the more so without other park guests to fixate on. </p><p>More importantly, it reminded Steve that he was in no danger: he could not be more than two stories above the ground, and he was still well inside the Magic Kingdom park.  He was not dangerously low in the sky, guiding any kind of real aircraft. </p><p>Nothing bad was going to happen, whatsoever.</p><p>All was well.  All was well.</p><p>Tony’s warm fingers coaxed his off the handle.  Although it was painful to relinquish, Steve did so.  At least it freed up an arm.  Curling it around Tony’s shoulders, he felt like he could breathe again, relaxing in his seat as they spun ‘round, maintaining steady elevation.</p><p>“See, that view’s worth a thousand words,” Tony said conversationally, leaning his shoulder into Steve’s chest, perfectly at ease.  But not oblivious.  Steve was grateful for both—the measured nonchalance, the weighed non-reaction.  He did not flinch when they began to descend, but he did stiffen up, glad Tony gave him something else to focus on as Tony said with exaggerated relief, “Here we are.”  At the gate, he told Stanley, “I thought I was gonna be sick.”</p><p>Steve was certain that was not true.  He knew what Tony looked like when he was mere moments from being sick, and his warm palm and healthy complexion were not it.  But Stanley took the bait: “Oh, my sir, I am <em>so </em>sorry, I thought—please, have a seat, can I get you a water?”</p><p>“I’ll live,” Tony announced gravely.  He patted the golf cart space beside himself.  Steve slid onto the seat warily, unsure what he was being asked. </p><p>Tony gripped Steve's knee firmly, as though for his own support.  Fondness and gratitude ached in Steve’s chest.  He knew the performance was for <em>his </em>benefit.</p><p>“Tell you what, I am <em>famished</em>, is there a place to eat around here?” Tony asked.  He did not wink at Steve, but he <em>could</em> have in the interval between Stanley fumbling to procure a map and presenting it. </p><p>Again, Steve knew it was an act: Tony Stark, who believed coffee counted as a meal, rarely ate breakfast, but Steve’s stomach growled at the mere <em>mention </em>of food. </p><p>Looking down, Steve covered Tony’s hand with his own, ostensibly providing moral support, silently offering thanks.</p><p>“Of <em>course</em>,” Stanley beamed, holding out a clean, hard map and gesticulating across it.  “It only depends on what the sirs would like—we have quick- and table-service—on-the-go and sit-down, that is—”</p><p>“Let’s sit,” Tony suggested.  “We got, what—two hours ‘til park-open?  Plenty of time.”</p><p><em>We don’t have to</em>, Steve thought, but he didn’t unhinge his stiff jaw to argue as Tony added, “Ooh, I’ve always wanted to eat in a <em>palace</em>.”</p>
<hr/><p>The Crystal Palace was a character meal.</p><p>Of course it was, Steve thought, amused and exhausted, yearning to disappear for a while.  He would sketch monkeys.  Monkeys made him feel better; monkeys were easy to draw but entertaining, expressive.  He didn’t know if he had it in him to speak to anyone, even Tony, as they stepped up the white staircase.  He wished that he’d slept two cycles, after all, feeling overwhelmed by it all, unsteady.</p><p>Steve was tempted to protest the restaurant choice, but Tony said, “Don’t worry about it,” and Steve decided not to.  Tony had not led him astray—much.  Stanley had—Tony had not.  Stanley didn’t know Steve a tenth as well as Tony.</p><p>It would be fine.  Steve was hungry.  He would be all right once he ate.  Perfectly well.</p><p>The Crystal Palace offered a true buffet, and the self-serve format served them well.  Like <em>‘Ohana</em>, they were ahead of the crowd.  The restaurant was completely empty, but with less than an hour until the first guests arrived for the pre-park-open meal, chefs were on hand and happy to cook for them.  They were cheerful and efficient.  Soon, the smell of fresh food dominated Steve’s thoughts.</p><p>They dined on a classic American breakfast—which, in the twenty-first century, was positively decadent: enough eggs and bacon and Mickey Mouse shaped waffles to feed a company. </p><p>Not realizing how hungry he had been ‘til the first plate was <em>gone</em>, Steve gulped down food at a rate he would never have entertained in an era when licking spoons was its own pastime.  The trembling edge of hunger and panic slowly abated.  With it, something inside him settled.  The desperation to flee eased.</p><p>Feeling foolish about such moments had long since walked out the door.  It was neither his nor Tony’s place to say what would make their spines go stiff on a given day.  It was only their imperative to stamp out the fires as quickly as they came. </p><p>The military guy in Steve appreciated the cuff-on-the-shoulder attitude.  He had no problem indulging in long conversations when they needed to happen.  Tony liked to ramble, to talk, to get it out of his chest.  But Steve felt it only steeped the poison to linger on his own conversations.  He could not imagine saying aloud that he had gotten stiff-backed because of a kid <em>elephant</em>.</p><p>Swallowing stiffly, aware that maybe some feeling of foolishness was still present, he spotted a familiar yellow fellow standing near the kitchen doors.  He pushed back his chair.  Tony turned to follow his sightline, but the big yellow bear trundled over before he had committed to turning his chair anywhere.</p><p>For a moment, Steve thought his feet would take him <em>out </em>of the building, out of the Magic Kingdom and Disney World and back <em>home</em>, back to his faux-simple life with Tony, where he understood how things worked and what to expect from each day—mostly.</p><p>Instead, Winnie-the-Pooh extended a paw to him.  Steve stepped forward and took it.  It was as softer than memory.  He thought, with sudden, painful longing, how dearly he wished his mother, who would stand half a head shorter than him, now, would feel, marveling Pooh Bear, who she had brought to life with hushed voice and wonder so many years ago, on cold nights when nothing seemed to make the misery any easier.</p><p>Holding the bear’s big paw, Steve brought it to his chest briefly.  Then, not for himself, but for the woman who could not be there with him, he crouched to slot both arms under the bear’s stout, rounded shoulders, and squeezed him.  “Good bear,” he repeated, the phrase she always used.  “Good bear,” he said again, holding on a little too long, eyes a little too hot to let go.</p><p>It was all right, after all—it wasn’t for him, it was for his mother.  And his mother always hugged good and strong, heedless of the doctors, because she didn’t believe her touch could make her sick son any sicker.  <em>You are strong</em>, she would tell him, in defiance of the cosmic order, a woman of stout, manifest belief in her own universe’s rightness.  <em>And brave.  And full of chagrin.  You don’t need to be.  Let other people be sad you are not six-and-a-half-feet tall.  So long as you are alive, you are capable.  Everyone is capable.  You just take your time doing it.</em></p><p>Briefly, well-aware that it was not real, that it was an act, a stage show, no more alive than his dead mother’s memory was, he pressed his face against the bear’s shoulder.  It was incredibly warm and teddy-bear soft.  It was as real as real could be. </p><p>Winnie-the-Pooh held onto his back with both paws, like he needed anchoring, too—like Winnie-the-Pooh needed hugs, too.  And that, Steve thought, was the realness, as he squeezed tighter, nowhere near enough to hurt, but to express a certain gratitude, a certain <em>understanding</em>.  An appreciation for the art of it all.</p><p>Letting go, he did not know what his own face looked like as Pooh Bear set his paws on either shoulder, almost setting him up for a lecture, but it was not a fatherly rebuke, or even a matronly assurance: it was the understanding of friends, <em>I see you</em>. </p><p>Across the years, so much had been lost—sometimes, he had tried to list it all, to encapsulate to others and especially Tony, what it was like, but the exercise was always so terribly, terribly, terribly inadequate, and he gave up a short way through it, realizing he would never regain what was lost—and yet, right there was something that had never been lost.</p><p>Pooh Bear lived on, almost a hundred years after he had first walked into Steve’s life.  Steve thought, <em>Good things last</em>.  He accepted a gentle but sincere handshake, a promise of <em>You can always come back to me</em> without words.</p><p>Tony didn’t even get up out of his chair, merely gestured Pooh Bear closer and clasped his hand before pulling his big head down and close, hugging him while seated.  Pooh Bear went with the motion, holding on exactly as long as Tony did, releasing him in nearly the same instant.  He was, Steve thought, the most marvelous bear alive. </p><p>Pooh Bear turned to him again, then tapped his own heart, then gestured at Tony. </p><p>Steve didn’t know, exactly, what he instructed, but it might have been like <em>Love him</em>, so he just nodded once.  Then Pooh Bear blew them a kiss, offered a parting wave, and disappeared where he had come, ambling out of view.</p><p>“Lots of honey back there,” Tony winked, as Steve stood, awestruck, unable to reclaim his chair.  “Still not as sweet as you,” Tony added, in such a hush he could almost imagine it, as he stood up and returned Steve to his chair, indicating lightly, “The characters come to <em>us</em>, dear.”</p><p><em>Is he real?</em> Steve had asked, young, almost too young to remember.</p><p><em>Oh, </em>his Ma had said, <em>very</em>.</p><p>She had never said how a fictional bear could be real; she could not have known that someday, he <em>would </em>be—she had stated it as though it had to be so.  Seeing Winnie-the-Pooh in all his teddy bear wonder made Steve’s heart warm, made it ache. </p><p>He was glad Tony took his hand and held onto it for a while.</p><p>Tigger didn’t show up until their meal was nearly done, even though they were the only two diners in the restaurant.  He approached and, after allowing the same how-do-you-do seated hug with Tony, popped a kiss on his cheek that made Tony smirk.  “I am <em>spoken for</em>,” he reminded, deliberately holding up his bare right hand to the big cat, who made a show of holding it in both paws in apparent delight.</p><p>“Now you just make me seem like a cheapskate,” Steve drawled.</p><p>Tony looked at him, arching both brows.  Then he said, “I wasn’t gonna say it.”  Conspicuously lifting his left hand out from under the table, he showed off the tungsten band on his <em>left</em> hand.  Tigger actually jumped, stepping back and pressing a hand to his heart.  “See, now look what you’ve done,” Tony said, getting up to steady the poor tiger who was pretending to fan himself with a paw.  “He just can’t take this excitement in one morning.”</p><p>“You started it,” Steve rightly reminded as, never one to miss an opportunity, Tigger offered a gentlemanly arm to Tony.  Sparing a quick glance at Steve, who shrugged affirmatively and slid Tony’s phone across the table towards himself, Tony took it.  “Aw,” Steve said.  “Look’at you.  Two gentlemen.”</p><p>“He’s my best man,” Tony said, while Tigger nodded emphatically, making Steve laugh.</p><p>“Yeah, I can definitely see that—inconspicuous,” he agreed, holding the phone up.  “All right, say <em>cheese</em>.”</p><p>Tigger was one of the few <em>tall </em>Disney characters trotting around, unlike stout Donald or like-minded Stitch, claiming a few inches on Tony and amusing Steve as he remarked, “Now, see, the only problem I see is—”  He made a vague gesture with a hand, indicating an unseen height limit.  Sinking several inches to put himself underneath Tony’s hairline, Tigger tilted his head for good measure, as if to say, <em>Better?</em>  “Well, now I can’t argue,” Steve added, taking another picture before setting the phone down.  Tigger bounced upright, rubbing Tony’s back briefly before letting go.</p><p>“All right, your turn,” Tony instructed, as Tigger happily waved Steve over.  The big tiger stood well off to the side, waiting for him rather than crowding close.  For a big, brightly colored tiger, he could be overwhelming, in both gesture and sheer <em>size</em>, but he had a comforting reservation about his approach.  He knew when to stand down.  Steve could appreciate that.</p><p>Besides—he was <em>Tigger</em>.  Steve had scarcely met a friendlier fellow, and he had always had a soft spot for the tiger.  Tigers—and most especially Tigger—had been his favorite, once upon a time.  “All right,” he conceded, standing and holding out a hand.  Tigger made a show of holding it in both paws, examining it for finery that wasn’t there.</p><p>“Now, who’s the cheapskate?” Tony asked wryly, as Tigger covered Steve’s left hand in both paws briefly, then released it.</p><p>Tigger patted him on the shoulder reassuringly, <em>All in good time.  </em>Steve smiled at him, slung an arm around his back, holding the tiger back.  “Yeah, you’re real stingy, bringing us here,” Steve said, as Tigger nodded playfully in agreement.  “See?”</p><p>“Oh, now you’re on <em>his </em>side?” Tony asked Tigger dryly.</p><p>Shaking his head emphatically, Tigger held up his free arm.  Tony said, “Uh-uh, I know when I’m second-best.”  Rolling with the rejection, Tigger swung around and swept Steve into a big hug, rocking with the movement.  Steve just held on with one arm, but he couldn’t stuff down a small smile as Tigger pulled back.</p><p>“You’re always top-notch,” Steve insisted, once the big tiger had bid his farewells, dragging Tony close with an arm around his waist.  “Got that?”</p><p>“I could be persuaded,” Tony mused, pecking him on the cheek.</p><p>Steve smiled.  <em>He </em>felt top-notch at Tony Stark’s side.</p>
<hr/><p>“<em>Good morning, Vietnam!</em>” Clint Barton crowed.</p><p>“Don’t hug, <em>don’t </em>hug,” Tony scowled, as Clint, bouncing gleefully ahead, extended both arms outward, gesturing at the town square, and indicated:</p><p>“Magic Kingdom!  Before park-open!  This is incredible.”</p><p>“Yes, it is.  Remember—you are on your <em>best </em>behavior,” Tony warned.</p><p>Crossing his heart, Clint added, “When am I not?”  Saluting the driver, he asked, “Who’s Zazu?”</p><p>“His name is Stanley.  You will do everything he says,” Tony grumbled.</p><p>“Morning, chief,” Clint said cheerfully, stepping up and shaking Stanley’s hand while he sat behind the wheel of his golf cart.  “How we doin’ today?”</p><p>“Splendid,” Stanley said.  “Better now that you’re here!”</p><p>“Naturally,” Clint said.  “Even brought a plus-one!” he bellowed over his shoulder.</p><p>Bruce trundled into view, blinking owlishly at them.  Reaching up to remove an earplug, he asked, “What?”</p><p>“Never mind.  Natasha passed,” Clint told Steve and Tony cheerfully.</p><p>Bruce paled.  “Oh, God, she died?”</p><p>“No, she<em> declined</em>,” Clint said, rolling his eyes.  “I <em>told</em> <em>you</em> already—anyway, what’re we waiting for?  Daylight’s burning!”</p><p>“Ground rules,” Tony said firmly, “you do not ditch Za—Stanley.”</p><p>“Which one’s—” Bruce began tentatively, pointing at each of them like he was still learning their names, then alighting on the only new member of their party with a simple: “Right.”  He offered a somewhat pained half-grimace, half-smile in Stanley’s direction.</p><p>“If you gentlemen would like, I would be <em>happy </em>to invite a second escort to assist with any part of our grand tour!” Stanley said.  “That way we can arrive at a happy ending for everyone.”</p><p>“Well, isn’t that accommodating,” Steve chimed in, leaning a hip against a railing leading up to the train station.  “What did you have in mind, Barton?”</p><p>Clint’s nostrils flared.  “<em>All</em>,” he said gravely.</p><p>Bruce shuddered.  “<em>All</em>?” he repeated.</p><p>“Why don’t we <em>start</em>,” Tony said, speaking firmly, “in Adventureland, see what happens?”</p><p>“Left-to-right?” Clint asked, almost sternly.  He did not appear to have entirely forgiven the first-day adventure of blitzing across the entire Magic Kingdom—<em>twice</em>—to ride three of its most popular attractions, <em>Pirates of the Caribbean, Space Mountain</em>, and <em>It’s a Small World</em>, located on opposing ends of the park.</p><p>Tony rubbed his brow.  “Fine,” he conceded.</p><p>“How many is <em>all</em>?” Bruce asked warily.</p><p>Steve just said, “Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>Bruce looked at him like Steve had told him not to worry about the imminent separation of his head from his shoulders.  Then Bruce nodded gravely.  “Is it too late to go back to the—?”</p><p>“Yes,” three voices chimed in, making Bruce cower and Steve sigh.  Tony put an arm around Bruce’s shoulders and insisted:</p><p>“It will be <em>fine</em>.”</p>
<hr/><p>It didn’t take a genius to see that Tony’s heart wasn’t in the experience.</p><p>Sure, he was outwardly engaging.  He even tolerated Clint’s more whimsical requests—namely the twin Mountains abridging Frontierland, <em>Splash Mountain </em>and <em>Big Thunder Mountain Railroad</em>, with unheard-of zero-minute wait-times, courtesy of their spell-binding pre-park-open opportunity to ride rides. </p><p>While Clint dragged a mournful-looking Bruce off to <em>Splash</em> along with the ever-solicitous Stanley, Tony sat back in the golf cart, expressing no interest in the water-themed attraction.  Steve stayed at his side, indicating that it was too early to get soaked, no matter how well-themed the attraction.  And, truly, he didn’t like leaving Tony behind.  It felt wrong.</p><p>Having chicken-exited out of <em>Splash Mountain</em> on the first day at Steve’s urging, Tony looked at the “briar patch” surrounding the ride with clear soreness.  He redirected his gaze out over a river instead, rubbing at his chest absentmindedly.</p><p>He remained equally reserved for <em>Big Thunder</em>, tapping the concealed arc reactor when Clint looked at him as though he had declined box seats at the theater for the best show in town.  Bruce looked pleading, but Tony would not budge.  So, the duo disappeared once again with Stanley cheerfully in tow. </p><p>Steve asked Tony, “You okay?”</p><p>“Great,” Tony said, voice . . . <em>off</em>.  “Tired.”</p><p>That made sense.  “Sorry,” Steve said sincerely.</p><p>“Don’t be.”  Drawing in a deep breath, Tony said, “I’ll be up for what’s next.”</p><p>He wasn’t—when Bruce and Clint returned, Tony scrunched up his nose at the mention of the <em>Haunted Mansion </em>in Liberty Square, looking like he would rather feed ducks than walk two hundred steps through a queue line.</p><p>Whether it was the ride itself or the thought of proceeding through the queue that daunted Tony, Steve did not know, but it was the third strike.  Steve could no sooner have ignored it than a red flag thrown at his feet.</p><p>Aware that they needed to make a tactical retreat, Steve proposed a revisit to the <em>Pirates of the Caribbean</em> ride in Adventureland instead, handily located on the opposite side of the park, closer to Main Street—and the park exit.</p><p>Being unable to split himself in ‘twain, despite his most solicitous desire to be accommodating, Stanley instead conjured up a second host, Darian, to assist with the split-decision.  Darian was nearly as enthusiastic as Clint about the prospect of a tour of the park before the official opening, but he did seem disappointed that he would not, in fact, be escorting <em>Iron Man </em>and <em>Captain America </em>around, as Stanley himself defended that honor, the only sign that they were <em>his </em>charges, <em>thank you, Darian</em>.</p><p>At least Stanley was level-headed, Steve thought, as they motored down the path towards Adventureland.  At least they traveled light, with nothing besides themselves to keep track of.  Stanley had assured them that their overnight items at the Cinderella Suite would be transported back to their main room at the Polynesian Village Resort, so for once, they had nothing to carry.</p><p>“Why don’t we—” Steve began, but Tony cut in brusquely:</p><p>“Shoot for EPCOT next?  Great plan.”  He didn’t look at Steve as he said it, sunglasses concealing his eyes but not his slight frown, pensive and outward as he watched the park go by.</p><p>Steve had been thinking more in line with <em>the hotel</em>, but EPCOT <em>was</em> lovely.  While the Magic Kingdom was certainly magical, Steve could admit that there was something about the lack of crowds that cast an almost somber air about it.  It <em>wanted </em>for people, like a garden just before bloom.  Something felt empty without them.</p><p>Letting Tony fold an arm through his, Steve became aware of his cold fingers first.  As they neared the <em>Pirates</em> attraction, recalling Tony’s ambivalence, feeling the slightest tremble to his grip, he propositioned: “Why don’t we go there first?”  <em>Let’s get out of here</em>.</p><p>Tony nodded, tightening his grip around Steve’s arm.  Stanley, bless him, didn’t even ask twice, merely carried on through quiet Adventureland at the same steady, glacial pace, as Tony’s breath puffed less evenly out of him. </p><p>To the outward observer, Tony seemed riveted and engaged, almost nostalgic.  But Steve could see the sheen dappling his throat.  He could hear the raggedy edge to Tony's breathing.</p><p>By Main Street U.S.A., Tony was done, drawing in a huge breath, like he was trying to absorb it all, before saying suddenly, “Stop, Stanley.” </p><p>Stanley halted, perhaps expecting a final, parting shot of Cinderella Castle, or maybe just a lingering stroll down Main Street, for old time’s sake.  Or perhaps he thought they might be bold and take a long walk to Tomorrowland—it wouldn’t be unlike Tony Stark to decide, out-of-the-blue, to make such extravagant rearrangements.</p><p>But Steve knew no such plans awaited them.  Tony’s palm was cold where it gripped his arm.  Yet the grit to Tony’s jaw promised dire consequences if Steve drew attention to his shaking hand as he rose slowly, clambering out of the golf cart with intent.  He was going somewhere, Steve was sure.  He had a place in mind, a thing in mind, an outcome that was not simply standing up to fall down again.</p><p>Yet nearly as soon as his feet touched the red pavement, Tony Stark did not stride confidently in any direction.  He took one faltering half-step to nowhere.  Then, with a terrible-sounding gasp, he crumpled.</p><p>Steve caught him.  He didn’t even think about it: he moved so rapidly it was like a lightning strike, his motions acutely attuned to his surroundings.  One moment he was sure Tony would be fine; the next, he was there, kneeling with Tony in his arms, one hand cradling the back of his head, never letting it touch the pavement.</p><p>A perfect catch, he thought, as Stanley said in the same put-together tone, “Stay right there,” and disappeared.</p><p><em>Where else am I gonna go?</em> Steve thought, on a mental track that had time to think thoughts, heart beating fast as he collected Tony in his arms.  He was hyper-aware of Tony’s shallow breaths, his rapid, fluttering <em>heartbeat</em>, Steve could <em>hear </em>it, tuning out all the rest of the world.  He was all right, Steve promised himself, resisting the urge to rouse him immediately. </p><p>He was all right.  All right.  All right.</p>
<hr/><p>Tony Stark was not happy.</p><p>“Thank you, you have been <em>more </em>than accommodating,” Tony was telling Stanley and the registered nurse with thinly-veiled ire, smiling to show teeth that bit the fins off fellow sharks that drifted too close, eyes nearly black with guarded attention.  “You want five stars on Yelp?  Have twenty.  We’ll just be on our way now—”</p><p>He started to lift himself off the First Aid cot.  Without conscious thought, Steve put a hand on his knee, pinning him to the table.  Tony sank his nails into Steve’s wrist in unguarded retaliation before asking the floor with palpable tension, “Am I in <em>trouble</em>?”  Then he leaned back and eased his grip, his entire posture still radiating agitation, his gaze fixed on the floor.</p><p>“Well,” Stanley began, looking between the registered nurse and the tense duo, drawing Tony’s gaze and holding it, “no, sir—not as such.”  <em>Not that kind of trouble</em>, Steve could hear in his tone.  Anybody could see that Tony wasn’t well. </p><p>They’d been right to take him to the First Aid clinic.  Stanley had even brought the nurse to their location to confirm what Steve had already known before informing them that they had a nice, air-conditioned facility just around the corner for such occurrences. </p><p>Steve had almost been grateful that Tony had been too out of it to do more than grumble, “No, I don’t wanna get up,” when Steve had tried to encourage him to walk from the golf cart to the First Aid door, carrying him in instead. </p><p>The peaceful moment had not lasted long.  Scant seconds later, Tony Stark had come around more fully.  And he was clearly <em>unhappy</em>.</p><p>“Wonderful.”  Tony didn’t jump to his feet, but he clearly wanted to, swallowing back an impatient <em>Well?</em> and settling on a more targeted, “If you wanted an autograph, you could’ve just <em>asked</em>.  This <em>reeks</em> of—”  Gesturing ineloquently with a hand, he added lukewarmly, “Extremism.”  With clear intent, he put a hand on Steve’s thigh and pushed at it, not a jerky shove but an almost surreptitious pressure, silently warning, <em>Back off</em>.</p><p>Steve didn’t want to—every instinct he had commanded, <em>Stay close, don’t let him fall</em>—but he knew that forcing the issue was wrong.  So, against his own better judgment, he rose and stepped aside.</p><p>Barely a second later, Tony stood, too.  Either purposefully ignoring or oblivious to his own tremulous condition, Tony endured the elevation change with a hand on the cot for balance, visibly uneven.  Standing aside, Stanley offered, “Would you like a water, sir?”</p><p>Lip curling in the briefest of grimaces, Tony staggered to the side and deposited himself in an armchair instead, his breathing loud, clipped, too fast. </p><p>Looking at the two Disney cast members, Steve asked, “Give us a minute?”</p><p>“Of course,” Stanley replied, nodding at the nurse, who said politely:</p><p>“I’d really like to—”</p><p>Tony rolled his eyes and drew in an even noisier breath, but his voice was calm as he said simply, “Not interested.”</p><p>Nodding, the nurse said without the slightest change in inflection, “Of course.  Just ring that bell if you need me; I won’t be far.”  Then she, too, was gone, sliding the curtain shut behind her.</p><p>Steve kept his distance from Tony, arms folded across his chest.  He forced himself to stay away, even though he wanted to close the distance, to <em>touch</em>, to assure himself that Tony was <em>okay</em>. </p><p>Tony was not okay.  Breathing raggedly, Tony reached up to loosen his collar, almost violently, tearing at his shirt.  Unable to bear it any longer, Steve ambled closer to help.  Tony snapped, “I didn’t <em>ask</em>—”</p><p>“I know.”  The picture of non-confrontation, Steve sat on the cot instead—putting himself closer, at least.  His heart ached.  “I’m just here, Tony.”</p><p>Still breathing furiously, Tony gripped his own shirt, right over the reactor.  It sounded awful, on the edge of wheezing.  He was deathly pale; his skin slick at the collar.  His fingers trembled.</p><p>“S’okay,” Steve said, realizing that staying back was not an option while Tony suffered.  As soon as Steve slid off the bed and approached, as non-threatening as could be, Tony still bristled like Steve had threatened to throw a noose around his neck.  Tony did not snap at him to stand down, a clear indicator of his personal suffering, but he stared Steve down, saying in a brisk, almost detached tone:</p><p>“You think you know me?  Better than me?  After eleven years of this?  <em>I know me</em>.”</p><p>“Doesn’t me you have to do it alone,” Steve said, kneeling, taking one of Tony's cold, clammy hands in his own.  “I’m here.  You’re okay.”</p><p>Tony’s grip was lax for only a heartbeat.  Then it tightened, wound up as it could go, desperate for safety.  There was no gratitude in his expression nor the hard line of his jaw, but Steve could feel how he needed the tether in how strongly he squeezed his hand. </p><p>Tony’s eyes stayed dark in the quasi-lit room, yielding little, looking away like he could not stand to meet Steve’s eye.</p><p>Tony radiated the air of a man not to be approached, but Steve had no fear.  While Tony stark snapped and drove away, he did not strike.  Scored verbally—but never dealt a blow.  And even if his anger was truly volatile, Steve was no ordinary man; he had no doubt that he could handle even the most explosive of tempers.</p><p>“You’re okay,” Steve repeated softly instead, choosing to meet rage with compassion, because he could afford to be compassionate.</p><p>Tony swallowed hard.  His hand shook with restrained fury, with restrained panic at being <em>unaware</em>.  Behind dark eyes, Steve saw deep exhaustion.</p><p>Steve rubbed his thumb over Tony’s knuckles.  Tony exhaled harshly and then, suddenly enough it nearly startled a yelp out of Steve, crashed forward, huddling in his arms like they were a safe haven. </p><p>Recovering, Steve cradled him close.  He trembled; Steve cupped the back of his head.  Kneeling on the clean white floor, Steve promised, “S’okay.”  Tony’s fingers scrabbled at his back, clinging to him.  “Easy, Tony.  Easy.”</p><p>Still sputtering, balancing the gripping <em>need </em>to anchor himself with the almost palpable, cutting, lionized anger at being knocked down, Tony gasped against his shoulder, trying to keep it quiet.  “S’okay,” Steve insisted.</p><p>Shifting, one arm firm around Tony, Steve settled against the chair, letting Tony lounge against him.  And Steve stayed that way, encouraging, “I’m here.  It’s okay.”</p><p>A short time passed.  Then Tony shifted, trying to get up.</p><p>Steve encouraged quietly, “You can stay—”</p><p>“I,” Tony began, and it was awful to hear a great orator stumble over words, even if only briefly, “I.  Let’s.”  Swallowing, he burrowed closer, gathering himself, before finishing nearly against Steve’s shoulder, “I would like to go to the hotel.”  Patting Steve on the back, like he was the one that needed cajoling, Tony began to struggle upright, shaking even more, insisting, “C’mon—”</p><p>Half-fond, half-worried, Steve slid an arm around Tony's shoulders, insisting, “I gotcha.”</p><p>Side-by-side, Tony patted the front of his shoulder, bolstered to be standing, even if he still looked far from his usual self.  “Hey,” Tony rasped, voice thin but more like himself as he repeated, “hey.  Should ride <em>Space Mountain</em>.  For old time’s sake.”  At Steve’s indubitably aghast expression, he added in an embellished jibe, “I’m <em>kidding</em>.”  Digging an elbow into Steve’s ribs, he retracted huskily, almost wistfully, “I mean, I wouldn’t say <em>no</em>—”</p><p>“C’mon,” Steve said quietly, guiding him along.</p><p>“I like your idea,” Tony conceded, sounding grateful just to be moving as they hobbled along, Steve’s gait steady, Tony’s haltingly slow.  “We miss anything?  We—”</p><p>“<em>Tony</em>.”</p><p>“All right,” Tony huffed.  Leaning a hand against the open doorframe, he asked, “We in a race or something?”</p><p>Slowing to an even more glacial, one-halting-step-at-a-time pattern when Tony resumed, Steve said, “Let’s just focus on the problem here.”</p><p>“Riding all the rides,” Tony agreed, smirking to himself, even though he still nearly limped, struggling not to grimace visibly.</p><p>“No,” Steve replied.</p><p>As soon as they entered the lobby area, Stanley looked up from where he had been speaking on a telephone, hanging up promptly and smiling at them.  “Well, hello, sirs!” he said delightedly.  “Feeling any—”</p><p>“Dan,” Tony began, huffing as he spoke.</p><p>“Stanley,” Stanley corrected.</p><p>“Danley,” Tony replied without missing a beat.  “I am—”  Grimacing, he redirected, “Talk to my chauffeur.”  He seemed beyond further explanation, leaning into Steve more heavily.</p><p>“We were thinking about heading back to the hotel,” Steve filled in.</p><p>“Excellent choice, sirs!” Stanley said.  Almost shooing them towards the door, he said, “Onwards, gentlemen, let me take you home!”</p><p>Holding up a hand, Tony indicated huskily, “I’ll take that water first,” with a downward twist of his mouth.  “If you please.”</p><p>“Of <em>course</em>,” Stanley agreed, flitting out the door.</p><p>Steve eased Tony down onto a bench.  Tony leveled an <em>Are you handling me?</em> look that Steve shrugged at.</p><p>Slumping forward, Tony grunted suddenly, “If I throw up, you can’t unmarry me.”</p><p>Aching with sympathy, Steve rubbed the back of his shoulder with a thumb and said, “Never.  Haven’t even married you yet and I wouldn’t unmarry you, Tony.”</p><p>“That doesn’t even make sense,” Tony sighed, letting out the thinnest of groans.  “I need wine.”</p><p>“You need water,” Steve corrected.  “You’re dehydrated.”  Tony’s shirt was sticking despite the sweat-wicking undersuit underneath it.  Steve could tell that Tony’s heart was still beating too fast.  “Could stand a dip in the pool, but—”</p><p>Shuddering meaningfully, Tony said, “Public pools?  What’s next, Über?”</p><p>“The German Superman?” Steve replied with a frown, just as Stanley, winded but otherwise intact, reappeared with a caseload of water bottles in hand.</p><p>“Fresh from the fridge,” Stanley huffed, setting down the condensation-loaded package and prying a bottle loose.  Cracking the seal, he handed it to Tony before repeating the process with Steve, asking, “Anything else, sirs?”</p><p>“Stan, whatever they’re paying you, they’re not paying you enough,” Tony said, sipping at his water.</p><p>Stanley beamed.  “Well, I do get free park admission off-the-clock.  And who else gets to escort the Avengers?  This is a dream come true!”</p><p>Slanting an almost wry look at Steve, Tony continued slowly chugging water, pausing to shake his head meaningfully and say, “And here I thought that welcome sign was purely aesthetic.”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Stanley beamed.  “Disney <em>is </em>the place where dreams come true.”</p><p>“Dial it back a notch, Dan,” Tony advised.</p><p>“Stanley,” Stanley reminded, still beaming.</p><p>“Danley,” Tony echoed, nodding as he sipped at his water bottle.</p><p>“I can make that work,” Stanley told Steve, shrugging amiably.  “More water?” he added, already pulling out a second one hopefully.</p><p>Tony held up a hand, took a long sip from his present bottle, and told him, “I only need one mother hen in my life.  I already have. . . .”  Squinting one eye thoughtfully, he asked, “Does J.A.R.V.I.S. count?”</p><p>“He would, if you’d wear your watch,” Steve said, kicking himself for not insisting on it.  It even <em>had </em>a heart rate monitor, and J.A.R.V.I.S. hooked up to—<em>perpetually nag</em>, Tony insisted; <em>helpfully remind</em>, Steve corrected.</p><p>“Well, I didn’t want it to get wet,” Tony said, rolling his eyes like it was obvious.  “Do you <em>know </em>how often it rains in Florida?”</p><p>“Every day,” Stanley agreed cheerfully.  “Give or take.  Hurricane season starts tomorrow!”</p><p>“See?” Tony mumbled, tilting his bottle at Stanley.  “The man knows.”</p><p>Steve blinked twice.  “Hurricane season?” he repeated incredulously.</p><p>Stanley nodded eagerly.  “Supposed to be a real wringer this year, but we’re hurricane-proof.  It’s a good time in Disney World when it storms.  We have the <em>Rainy-Day Cavalcade</em> and everything.  Feel almost sorry you gents missed out, but you can’t fault blue skies.”</p><p>Still processing the <em>hurricane season starts tomorrow </em>remark, Steve said, “Hurricane season.  There’s a <em>season</em>—”</p><p>“We’re pretty far off the coast,” Stanley assured.  “We almost never see more than a little rain, nothing to worry about!  Nothing to worry about.”</p><p>“You have a <em>season</em> of <em>hurricanes</em>?” Steve clarified, boggling.</p><p>“Every year!” Stanley said.  “We’re very well-prepared.  Nobody prepares for a hurricane like Disney!  Or Gaston,” he winked, utterly cryptically.</p><p>Looking down at Tony, who just swilled water innocently, looking almost amused at what he was sure was a blank expression on his own face, Steve finally said, “I do not like that.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s really not a—” Stanley hastened to assure.</p><p>“Why—” Steve began.  Then, shaking his head, Steve sat on the long bench next to Tony and cracked his own water bottle open, draining it in one long gulp.  “How many seasons are there?” he asked somberly, crumpling the bottling and looking at Stanley.</p><p>Stanley looked thoughtful for a long moment.  “Does hunting season count?” he asked Tony.</p><p>Steve said, “Hunting <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“You cannot tell me people didn’t hunt in the 40s,” Tony huffed, chucking the empty bottle into a bin before clambering to his feet, using Steve as a lean-to.</p><p>“<em>People-</em>hunt?” Steve gawked.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Tony grumbled, curling a hand around his arm.  “You’re an asshole, you’re lucky I love you—sorry, Dan.”</p><p>“All adults here; it’s fine.  And Stanley,” Stanley added, with an almost reflexive beam.  “Just, uh, you know—not with the kids, maybe?” he added with a sage nod that Tony returned.</p><p>“Yeah.  Don’t tell the guy with feathers.  Running bet.  Dear,” he added to Steve.</p><p>“Mm?” Steve replied.</p><p>Tony squeezed his arm.  “No.  <em>Deer</em>,” he repeated.  “Bucks.  Does.  Hunting season.”  He didn’t seem much steadier on his feet, but he breezed on, “Although the headhunters are still around, aren’t they?”</p><p>“Assuredly,” Stanley winked.</p><p>“Headhunters?” Steve said, chivvying Tony towards the door.  “What in the <em>world</em>—”</p><p>“No <em>Jungle Cruise</em>?  Perhaps another day,” Stanley said brightly.</p><p>“Actually,” Tony said, with a mischievous tone that boded poorly, “there’s no—”</p><p>“Tony, <em>no</em>,” Steve insisted.</p><p>“But it’s my <em>birthday</em>,” Tony wheedled, nearly weaving on his feet and leaning into Steve but positively <em>beaming</em> with the spark of a terrible idea.</p><p>Stanley gasped and <em>dropped</em> the packet of water bottles, which thankfully remained intact thanks to their plastic wrapping.  “Is that <em>so!</em>”  Clapping, he picked up the water bottles and said, “Happy <em>birthday</em>, sir!  Why didn’t you say so?”</p><p>“Didn’t want to make a fuss,” Tony drawled.  “Two days late, but it’s the reason we came, isn’t it?  Still counts.  Birthday trip.”</p><p>“Birthday trip!” Stanley agreed, his demeanor shifting as they stepped out into the sweltering heat once again.  “Oh, wonderful, sirs!  Just wonderful!  <em>Do </em>tell them at the Grill—er—wherever you dine tonight!”</p><p>“Grill, huh?” Steve said, nearly picking Tony up and setting him down on the seat in the golf cart, joining him and slinging an arm around him.  Tony leaned into him and wheedled promptly:</p><p>“We just <em>can’t </em>leave without meeting the headhunters.”</p><p>It was easy to see how Tony Stark could walk into all sorts of terrible situations.  “Tony, we do not need to meet the—”</p><p>“I think we <em>do</em>.”</p><p>“Tony, you—”  Making a frustrated noise as Tony gestured for Stanley to turn their cart around, Steve said, “Now hold on a <em>second</em>.”  Obediently, Stanley waited, golf cart chugging but in place.  “I thought we were gonna go back—”</p><p>“<em>After </em>we meet the headhunters,” Tony bargained.  He actually seemed excited about the prospect.  And Steve—he was weak for that excitement, but he was also supposed to be the reasonable one who pulled Tony back from the cliff-edge.</p><p>“Tony,” Steve warned.  “I’m serious.  Cut it out.”</p><p>“One ride,” Tony pressed.  “It’s our <em>last </em>day,” he insisted.</p><p>Steve looked at him, mouth pressed to a line.  Finally, Steve said, “<em>Only </em>ride.  Got it?  And if it’s—”</p><p>Tony kissed his cheek.</p><p>Steve sighed.  “Tony,” he said, pinning him firmly to the cart and fumbling a bottle from the package jouncing along beside Stanley.  “Drink this or I’ll change my mind.”</p><p>“I’ll throw up on you,” Tony warned, uncapping the bottle and using a little to dampen his hands, rubbing them over his cheekbones.  “Watch me.”</p><p>“Then we <em>definitely </em>won’t see any headhunters,” Steve retorted.</p><p>“Killjoy,” Tony muttered, swiping a hand over his collarbones.  He took a short swig from the bottle and grimaced.  Tony said, “You drink it; you drink like a camel.”</p><p>“I don’t have a heart condition.”</p><p>“Rub it in,” Tony grumbled.</p><p>Glancing briefly to see that Stanley’s gaze was fixed on the path ahead, Steve cradled the side of Tony’s head, pressed a kiss to his sweat-damp temple, and insisted, “<em>One </em>ride.”</p><p>Tony snuggled up against him.  “They say fresh air is good for the soul.”</p><p>“Yeah—so is <em>resting</em>,” Steve said.  “Don’t put on a brave—”</p><p>“I know,” Tony grumbled.  “I know.  Just—lemme have this.  All right?”</p><p>Steve rested his cheek against Tony's hair.  “This is insanity,” Steve said, nearly too soft to be heard.</p><p>“No; this is Disney World,” Tony replied in an almost-cheerful drawl.</p>
<hr/><p>The <em>Jungle Cruise </em>wasn’t far—in fact, it was the nearest thing to right next to them, located in good ol’ Adventureland, one tick to the left on the spoked wheel that was the Magic Kingdom. </p><p>Stanley parked them at the entrance to the ride’s empty queue line and instructed them to wait while he went to debrief the ride attendants.  In the near-distance, Steve could hear the slow-moving water and the both familiar and unfamiliar sound of mechanical wonders.  His predominant impression was, <em>So, it’s like </em>Pirates.</p><p>It was good news: he had enjoyed <em>Pirates of the Caribbean</em>, a truly novel <em>boat</em> <em>ride</em> featuring an array of swashbuckling pirates in various scenes of disrepute.  If the “headhunters” were anything like the “pirates,” he suspected he would enjoy their show, too.  And, although it had been Stanley’s <em>idea</em>, the <em>Jungle Cruise </em>had Tony’s endorsement.  Tony had not led him astray.</p><p><em>I will enjoy this</em>, Steve vowed to himself.  He had enjoyed so much of their trip, but he was feeling overindulged, like he had eaten too much cake.  <em>Dumbo</em> had proven an unexpected jolt.  He almost feared what <em>Jungle Cruise </em>might hold.</p><p>Eager to focus on other things, Steve was about to cup his own hands and dampen the back of Tony’s neck when a radio crackled to life, panning out an orchestral tune that Steve would have recognized anywhere.</p><p>The song’s name escaped him, but the trumpets and upbeat fox trot immediately made him feel like—well, like <em>home</em> was just around the corner.  The knock of nostalgia hit him square in the chest, but it wasn’t painful, wasn’t hurtful, just <em>there</em>, heart beating faster as he announced with profound surety, “I <em>know</em> this one.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Tony asked, capping off his bottle and looking at him.</p><p>Just to prove him right, a voice hollered happily from the tinny little radio:</p><p>“<em>Eyes like searchlights in the night, gorgeous teeth and snowy white—take a look, here comes my ball and chain!</em>”</p><p><em>Here Comes My Ball and Chain! </em> </p><p>Steve had not heard that tune in—he leaned towards the sound, listening, as J.L. Sanders rambled on in infatuated delight:</p><p>“<em>She’s a sunny gem to me, tons of personality—take a look, here comes my ball and chain!</em>”</p><p>It wasn’t a tune from the war, not like—like <em>It’s a Long Way to Tipperary </em>was, and how had he forgotten <em>Tipperary</em>, he of <em>proud Irish stock</em>!, except it had played in Main Street without words, and it had been the song of his forefathers, sung only by nostalgic soldiers in the wee hours when longing for home—but what issued from the speakers was nothing like the old war tune.  It was a song that had come from every phonograph of the early twentieth century, a <em>dancing </em>song, one that had made the Roaring Twenties the <em>Roaring Twenties</em>.</p><p>“<em>Oh, we do the huggin’, when we hit a chair; how she can cuddle, it’s no man’s affair!  </em></p><p>“<em>I looked around from pole to pole, found a real nice sugar bowl, mm-mm!  Look out!  Here comes my ball and chain!</em>”</p><p>A slow, happy warmth spilled inside him, like honey from the comb, as the band played on, taking turns, goading each other, right up ‘til Sanders crooned the first two lines again.  It was a song Steve had not heard in <em>twenty years</em>.  Yet it felt like the first time he had ever heard it, really listened to it, gotten a <em>chance </em>to hear it. </p><p>There were days when he forgot the Forties weren’t closing in on the Fifties, when it was the Twenty-Tens-and-Counting and his math got all screwy again, but listening to the Roaring tune playing on an old radio—it brought back so many memories he almost believed it really was yesteryear again.</p><p>“Tony,” he said aloud, grasping for words.  “I know this one.  I. . . .”  He couldn’t encapsulate in words the feeling, the hours spent wandering hot streets because air coolant wasn’t a commodity available in every residence and commercial business yet, and windows were wide open on the hottest days of the year to allow phonographs to peter out the same staticky tunes. </p><p>“<em>Look out!  Here comes my ball and chain!</em>” belted out Sanders, one last time, a lifetime ago.</p><p>No sooner had Sanders stepped off the proverbial stage than another tune drifted in, like an old friend appearing at the door.  Steve recognized it, too, recognized that he was—he was <em>grown</em> when he first heard it, it was a Depression song, and one never <em>forgot </em>the Depression era songs, as Dick Powell somberly reflected:</p><p>“<em>I have never envied folks with money; millionaires don’t get along so well</em>.”  As Dick Powell crooned about the struggle of wanting money and having love, Steve listened, entranced, transported.  Ascending a melancholy staircase to an upbeat finish, Powell proclaimed, “<em>But I’m certain, honey, that life could be sunny—with plenty of money and you!</em>”</p><p>It was the kind of message that warmed the bleeding hearts of souls like his, long ago, who’d kicked empty cans down long roads, wondering if tomorrow would ever bring better days.  To be a <em>millionaire</em> became not only a ludicrous goal but a dangerous one, a castle in the sky—but to treat one’s honey right, that was the fashionable thing to do.  Yet they still dreamed, still yearned for <em>just a little filthy lucre</em>, as Powell playfully put it.</p><p>Even with dust in their pockets, they <em>dreamed</em>.</p><p>It was a powerful reminder of a time he had almost forgotten, a time he had almost purposefully buried under a rug.  He didn’t much like to dwell in Powell’s world, or even Sanders’—no one was alive to share in those times.  Yet, listening to their songs, he felt . . . briefly, for just a few shy minutes, like maybe it was still part of him.  Like it all belonged to him, after all.</p><p>Holding onto Tony, Steve glanced over when Stanley returned, cheerfully informing them that their Skipper awaited.</p><p>Tony kissed his cheek, brief but intentional.  Steve felt warmed to his toes, realizing that, for all those hours of listening and only dreaming about having, and wanting, and being among the envying crowd, he finally <em>had</em>.</p><p>He had everything he had ever wanted and so much <em>more</em>.</p><p><em>Cherish it</em>, he thought, slinging an arm around Tony’s back, guiding him through the shortened FastPass queue, keeping him steady.  <em>Don’t let it slip through your fingers</em>.</p><p>But the black engagement ring on Tony’s finger was a reminder that he hadn’t—maybe five years late, but not too late.</p>
<hr/><p>Steve was fairly sure Skipper Tom was a real person, but he was the most outsized person Steve had ever met.</p><p>“Well, for my inaugural cruise, I could not be more thrilled to go down with this ship!” Skipper Tom said cheerfully.  “And by down, I mean down the river, of course!”</p><p>Propping a foot up on the steamboat’s railing and leaning his entire upper body precariously over the side, Skipper Tom instructed, “Now, just have her back in three to six business months, otherwise we have to report another crew missing—I’m just kidding, we don’t report it!”  Stepping up to bat, he reclaimed a handheld radio and asked loudly, “<em>Allllll</em> aboard?”</p><p>Arching both eyebrows, Steve looked at Tony next to him and asked, “This guy have a license?”</p><p>“You don’t need a license to drive a boat,” Tony said, rolling his eyes and propping his feet up on a long bench in the center of the steamer.  “You don’t even need to pass a sobriety test.  Right, Tom?”</p><p>“The customer is always right!” Skipper Tom said, waving at a fellow Skipper on the docks as their boat motored to life—a real boat, with an actual motor, fancy that.  “Au revoir!  Now remember, this was a full boat when we disembarked!  And it will stay that way only if we all keep our hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the boat!”</p><p>Turning to look at the conspicuously empty boat, Steve firmed his grip around Tony’s shoulders and asked, “This guy trustworthy?”</p><p>“Most reputable source of disreputable information in the jungle!” Skipper Tom preened, motoring along, his back to the wheel.  “Here to fill all your needs—I’ll be your tour guide, your snake charmer, your gorilla wrestler, your interpretive dance instructor, and if you don’t laugh at my jokes, I’ll be your swimming instructor, too!”</p><p>Entering a swath of misty, exotic faux-forests, Skipper Tom invited, “Now, have a <em>look</em> under your seats and you will find a very special prize—that’s right, it’s a sense of humor!  It’s a sense of—I’m just kidding, we ran out of those years ago.  Isn’t that miraculous, what happens in the jungle stays on the <em>Jungle Cruise</em>, now—”</p><p>With an auctioneer’s rapidity, Skipper Tom introduced them to their five-exciting-days-and-ten-romantic-nights on the Amazon River without a trace of apparent irony. </p><p>Steve firmed his grip around Tony’s waist, ready to tell the Skipper to cut out the tomfoolery and focus on the <em>wheel</em> as he spun it around, steering the boat around a bend and rattling off an upbeat description of a short stack of waterfalls named <em>Inspiration Falls</em>, apparently named as such because they inspired travelers to <em>go</em>—deeper and deeper into the jungle.</p><p>Tony shook against his side.  Steve took his eyes off the recalcitrant Skipper to check on him just as Skipper Tom announced after an improbably brief time on the <em>Amazon River</em>:</p><p>“We’re now entering the Congo River, so let’s see how far we <em>Can-go</em> with me at the wheel—based on my last few cruises, not far.”</p><p>Tony lost it—he <em>snickered</em>, trying hard to stifle it, but Skipper Tom buckled down, rattling off at great speed: “Ahead, I’ve arranged a welcome party with the locals, and it’s gonna be <em>great</em>.  There’s gonna be singing, dancing, games, Bongo Bars, Bingo, Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Zebra, piñatas, piña coladas, and—<em>OH NO!</em>”  Turning to the decorated canoes lined up on the empty white beach, Skipper Tom nearly flung himself outside the boat to exclaim, “Oh, I don’t see <em>anyone</em>, can-oe?”</p><p>Skipper Tom’s over-the-top delivery and fainting-dame levels of upset finally earned a huff of laughter from Steve. </p><p>Inspired, Skipper Tom popped back inside the vessel, turned to him, and instructed, “You there, take the wheel, I need a moment, this is unbelievable—” </p><p>Shaking his head in apparent despair, Skipper Tom gave Steve little choice but to comply.  Steve shifted to the front of the vessel, placing a steadying hand on the wheel. </p><p>Skipper Tom leaned against the pole, one hand over his eyes, proclaiming, “And to think, all those uneaten <em>Bongo Bars</em>—”  Removing his hand, he pointed to behind Steve and shrieked, “Snake!  There’s a snake!”</p><p>Steve dropped the wheel like it was on fire; heroically, Skipper Tom lunged for it, spun it to the right, and, just as their vessel skated past a giant python lounging in the trees, scant feet from their boat, added, “That was a <em>close </em>one—well, after that excitement, I think I need to take a breather, what do you gentlemen say we stop by my encampment and—oh dear.  Oh dear, the in-laws are here.”</p><p>Steve couldn’t see any humans on the sandy shore, but there were two gorillas busy tearing up the interior of a tent behind an overturned Jeep.  Skipper Tom slowed their boat, observing with forced cheer: “Well, don’t mind them—they’re just monkeying around—throws a bit of a wrench in our plans, but at least they finally got the ol’ engine to <em>turn over</em>!  Now, please do me a favor and do <em>not </em>make any banana sounds, they find them very appealing!”</p><p>Tony buried his face against Steve’s shoulder.  Zooming down the forested river, Skipper Tom went on, “That’s fine, at least we have the Nile to look forward to—longest river in the world, you know!  And if you don’t believe me, well, you’re just in de—disbelief.”  Gesturing to his left, he added, “And now we can <em>behold!  </em>The mighty African elephant, and do you know how I know he is an African elephant?  Because we are in Africa.”</p><p>Even Steve smiled at that.  “Oh, and this one’s my favorite, Tippy!”  Drifting in front of a second elephant, Skipper Tom informed them, “I’ve been teaching her a few tricks—Tippy, SPEAK!”  Tippy lifted her trunk and trumpeted.  “—in <em>Greek</em>,” Skipper Tom about-faced, and Tippy trumpeted back even louder.  “<em>SPRAY WATER</em>,” Skipper Tom roared.</p><p>The elephant’s trunk sank.  Steve’s heart rate slowed, even as Skipper Tom apologized, “We’re still working on that one.  I’m watching you, Tippy!”</p><p>Drifting around a large rock formation, Skipper Tom announced, “And this is my favorite—the great boulder!  It’s actually sandstone, but most people take it for granite.”  Tony sighed, then tipped his head to look at the African—“veldt,” Skipper Tom introduced, pointing out the giraffes, gazelles, gnus, guh-zebras, and guh-lions.</p><p>“What’s a guh-nu?” Steve asked.</p><p>“I’m guh-lad you asked!” Skipper Tom chirped.  “It’s the one right below the long-necked cheetah.”  Pointing at a beast standing beside a herd of giraffes, Skipper Tom halted the boat in front of a rocky feature, where a pride of lions clustered around a very dead-looking zebra, cooing, “Aw—look, it’s a very loving family of lions looking after a very tired zebra!  Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that zebra looked pretty dead—tired!  Dead-tired.”  Beaming, he added, “It’s a little known-fact that zebras like to sleep on their sides with their necks slightly bent.”</p><p>Onward went their zippy little boat, Skipper Tom pulling out everything and the kitchen sink to make ‘em laugh.  Steve was a tough crowd and he knew it, but Tony enjoyed it: he snickered at poor Ahontas’s plight as a rhino chased him and his companions up a tree trunk, Skipper Tom’s remark that the rhino was trying to <em>poke</em> Ahontas going over well.  Ginger the snapping crocodile also earned a rare laugh from Tony.</p><p>Even Skipper Tom shrieking, “We’re <em>not gonna make it!</em>” and turning the boat away from a set of waterfalls made Tony smile instead of holler at Skipper Tom for what had to be truly abominable observational awareness skills.  As they drifted along a leisurely stretch of greens, Skipper Tom regaled them with the story of his career really taking off on the <em>Jungle Cruise</em>, cheerfully ignoring the front half of a small broken airplane crashed in the woods.</p><p>Convinced the man was a con artist on Disney’s payroll, Steve took note when they entered hippo-infested waters.  “Now, these beasts do capsize boats regularly in these waters, but never fear,” Skipper Tom assured, “as I,” he lofted a fake gun in the air, “have a gun!  Be warned, this might get a little loud.”  Turning towards the front of the boat, Skipper Tom roared, “<em>GET DOWN, HIPPOS—I’VE GOT A GUN!</em>”</p><p>The hippos sank back into the water.  Skipper Tom chortled, “Works every time!”</p><p>At last, they entered Headhunter Territory.  Skipper Tom’s antics only increased as he introduced the skull-shaped remnants of his previous crew before pointing out the headhunters themselves, dancing in groups. </p><p>No sooner had Skipper Tom noted their presence than he was diving for cover as a second cluster—whose dance had not, as Skipper Tom had hypothesized, been an indicator of a men’s room malfunction, but a precursor to battle—launched unseen spears at their vessel.  Righting himself, Skipper Tom proclaimed the close call a friendly warning.</p><p>As they drifted along, Steve found himself enjoying the show.  It wasn’t half-bad.  The boat kicked up a nice breeze, and there were plenty of interesting things to look at, lots of what he belatedly realized had to be phony animals and occasional references to the notorious headhunters.  He was still impressed by the baby Indian elephants, even if they weren’t as cute as the real baby African elephants had been on the tamer, more informational <em>Kilimanjaro Safari</em>.</p><p>It wasn’t until he caught a sincere smile on Skipper Tom’s face as he steered their little vessel around a bend that Steve deciphered the true purpose of the <em>Jungle Cruise</em>: it was about the tour itself, not the animals but the <em>show</em>.</p><p>And, even though it was nearly over, Steve enjoyed it more for understanding.  Tony was relaxed at his side, his mind finally taken <em>off </em>things.  <em>He </em>clearly got the jokes, even though Steve still didn’t think a two-shrunken-heads-for-one deal was worth brightening up Trader Sam’s business; getting <em>ahead </em>in that particular industry didn’t seem worth it.</p><p>As they approached the dock, Skipper Tom announced, “All right, folks, good news is, we survived!  We survived, round of applause from the survivors!”</p><p>Setting his mic down and ignoring the conspicuous lack of applause from the rest of the boat, Skipper Tom clapped, cheered, and whooped—louder, Steve suspected, than an entire boatload of people would’ve been. </p><p>Taking his radio in hand again, Skipper Tom steered them to shore and added spiritedly, “And now, I would just like to offer some parting wisdom, from the great man Walt himself: <em>If you can dream it, you can</em>—get out of my boat.”</p><p>Folding an arm across his middle, Skipper Tom bowed, then added, “When you exit the boat, please watch your step and watch your head, and if you miss your step and hit your head, then watch your language, this is Disney!”</p><p>“Wasn’t that a treat?” Stanley asked them, standing by the dock and offering a hand, a gentleman to the finish.</p><p>“You know what?” Steve allowed, stepping up and offering Tony his arm, glad to see a bit more color in his face.  “It was an experience.”</p><p>“Hear that?  I’m putting that on my wall!” bellowed Skipper Tom, pumping a fist in the air.  Waving back at them, he added, “Been a treasure, come back real soon!”  Then he puttered ahead, meeting up with his crew mates on land but hollering back to them, “Vacancies in the crew always available!”</p><p>Huffing, Steve slid his arm around Tony’s waist and said, “I think once is enough, don’t you?”</p><p>“See?” Tony said, nudging him.  “Now you can say you’ve been on the world-famous <em>Jungle Cruise</em>.”</p><p>“I can say that,” Steve agreed, chauffeuring him through the exit queue.</p><p>“Haven’t been on the world-famous <em>Haunted Mansion</em>,” Tony mused.</p><p>Steve steered him firmly towards the golf cart.  “I think I’ll live.”</p><p>“Well, that’s the hope,” Tony replied, turning to face him with a grin.  “Who knows, they’ve got vacancies, too.”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve grumbled.  It was all-too-easy to see Tony wasn’t rock-steady on his feet.  “What about our deal?”</p><p>Tony slid into the golf cart and asked him, “Do you <em>ever </em>get FOMO?”</p><p>“FOMO?” Steve repeated, settling beside him.  “Is that like FUB—”</p><p>“Fear of Missing Out,” Tony clarified.</p><p>“Oh.”  Shrugging, Steve fetched another pair of water bottles from the front seat, one for himself, one for Tony.  “I don’t know,” he said honestly.  He had missed so much, and there was no getting it back.  “No,” he decided.  He had come to terms with it.  As much as one could.</p><p>Tony leaned into him, saying, “Well, good.  It’s overrated.”  Knocking a knee against the back of Stanley’s seat, Tony ordered, “<em>Hike!</em>”  To Steve, he added, “Park opens in . . . twenty-two minutes.  Surprised they haven’t let the masses in yet.  Chop, chop, we gotta make our great escape.  Wonder where—”</p><p>Pulling out his phone, he sighed, showing Steve a self-portrait of Clint and Bruce inside a rocket, surrounded by planets.  Clint was beaming; Bruce had both hands over his face.</p><p>“They’re making <em>tracks</em>,” Tony muttered.  “<em>Astro Orbiter.  </em>Wonder if they skipped <em>Halls of Presidents</em>,” he mused, fingers flying before he grimaced abruptly and pocketed his phone.  “H’okay, not my best idea.  Stanley,” he ordered.  Stanley nearly screeched to a halt.  “You get your license on the <em>Jungle Cruise</em>?”</p><p>“My friends did,” Stanley said, winking at them.  “Anything I can get you?”</p><p>Shaking his head, Tony huffed, “No.”  Rolling the water bottle against his forehead, Tony said, “I’m good.  Just not the texter-and-driver I used to be.  Carry on.”</p><p>“You sure?” Stanley asked.</p><p>Tony leveled a flat look at him.  Stanley resumed, unfazed.  Holding the bottle against his cheek, Tony muttered, “Sometimes, I hate my heart, and it hates me.”</p><p>Anchoring an arm around Tony, Steve said, “Nah, Tony.  S’a good heart.”  Tony made a noncommittal noise, but he leaned against Steve, so Steve considered it a win.</p><p>As they puttered down Main Street, Steve could not help but notice the upbeat music.  “I know this one, too.”</p><p>“You’d better,” Tony grumbled.  “We’ve only seen <em>Wall-E </em>a <em>thousand</em> times.”</p><p>“Is that what this—?” Steve began, but then he could hear it, and he laughed in recognition:</p><p>
  <em>Put on your Sunday clothes, there’s lots of world out there!  Get out the brilliantine and dime cigars!</em>
</p><p>Even Tony smiled.  It was only fair: <em>Wall-E</em> was <em>his </em>favorite Disney film.  Steve needed only to look to Tony spending hours fussing over Dum-E and U to know why.</p><p><em>Wall-E</em> had been different, relying on a visual narrative.  Steve didn't need to ask what the characters were talking about or what the context of the film was.  <em>Wall-E</em> was easy to understand.  And when things were easy—it made Steve feel at <em>home </em>again.</p><p>Hearing the tune in such a removed and somehow perfect context made Steve feel light.  It was like seeing a friend wave from an open window.  Things weren’t perfect, but there <em>was</em> lots of world out there.</p><p>Inside the gates to the Magic Kingdom, Tony turned to Stanley and extended a hand.  “You have made these two days magical, Stanley.”</p><p>“Well,” Stanley replied, taking Tony’s hand and smiling brilliantly.  “I can say the same to you, Mr. Stark.  It has been my absolute honor.  I’ll remember this forever.”</p><p>Releasing his hand, Tony smirked.  “Forever’s a long time,” he warned.</p><p>“Trust me,” Stanley said.  Offering his hand to Steve, who shook it firmly, he added, “Captain.  It’s been an honor.”</p><p>“Likewise,” Steve agreed.</p><p>Stepping back, Stanley saluted, “At ease, gentlemen.”  Nodding, he pointed out, “I’m afraid I have to return to the castle, but Janice here will be happy to take you wherever you’d like to go—thank you, Janice.”</p><p>“My pleasure, Stan,” Janice said, offering a real smile among friends.  The oldest guide yet, she turned to them and asked, “By land or sea?”</p><p>“If I <em>see </em>a boat in the next hour,” Tony drawled, “it may be too soon.”</p><p>Smiling, Janice said lightly, “Land it is.  Tell you what, let’s drive over to the Contemporary—it’s a quicker Monorail ride to the Polynesian, what with the morning crowds.”</p><p>Stepping through the unused turnstiles in reverse, Tony observed, “This feels somewhat illicit.”</p><p>“Welcome to Disney World, the most magical place on Earth,” Janice said.  “I’m just over here,” she added, indicating a smaller golf cart ten paces away.  “Who wants to ride up front with me?” she added teasingly.  “Got room on the roof and hood, too, for stragglers.”</p><p>“He did such a good job on the <em>Tomorrowland Speedway</em>, I think he’d make a good copilot,” Tony volunteered Steve, who kept an arm around him, aware of the large crowd milling outside the active turnstiles,  awaiting entry into the Magic Kingdom.</p><p>“Did you?” Janice asked brightly.  “Well, that’s great—best attraction, first thing.”</p><p>“So I’ve heard,” Steve drawled, keeping his pace slow for Tony even as Janice, older but spry, trotted along ahead.  “You good?”</p><p>“Yeah.  Go on,” Tony nudged, pushing him ahead, so Steve clambered into the seat next to Janice.  “I’ll try not to fall off,” he added, facing backwards and gripping a side pole for support.  “No promises.”</p><p>Janice laughed, light and easy, but Steve cast Tony a stern look, saying, “Uh-huh.”</p><p>“All aboard?” Janice asked.  At Steve’s nod, she puttered off.  Tony, true to his word, stayed on, although he shut his eyes, looking pale.  “So, how did you like the Magic Kingdom?” Janice asked conversationally.</p><p>“Well enough,” Steve said.  Nearly leaning sideways in his seat, he slung an arm around the back of the cart, across Tony’s chest, giving him a firm tether to latch a single cold hand onto.  “Not a lotta people.”</p><p>“Not that you can see,” Janice said cheerfully, explaining all about the unseen cast members and something called the <em>Utilidors</em>, not that Steve was, shamefully, paying much attention. </p><p>Feet planted, Steve maintained perfect balance, focusing on not applying too much pressure on Tony’s chest, hyper-aware of the moderate journey around the Seven Seas Lagoon from the Magic Kingdom to the Contemporary Resort next door. </p><p>“So, any fun plans for the day?” Janice asked.</p><p>“Not as such,” Steve said distractedly, thumb brushing over Tony’s shoulder.  “You work here long?” he asked to keep her talking.</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Janice said, before launching into a spiel that, thankfully, kept her occupied.</p><p><em>I gotcha</em>, Steve promised Tony, wishing he could assume Tony’s misery as his own.  <em>I won’t let you go</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>They had been together for five years.</p><p>Five years of navigating deep water, of falling overboard more times than Steve cared to recollect and experiencing more wonder than he could encapsulate in words.  In the beginning, the hardest thing had not even been their relationship: it had been the new millennium.  It had been a hard first year, an even more difficult first month. </p><p>Steve had not been sure that he would even survive his first week.  Determined to stay alert until something had made <em>sense</em>, he had not slept.  For quite some time after emerging from that cold, dreamless sleep, reality had seemed like a terrible dream, full of strange new people and rules and so many new <em>things</em>.  Taking it all in, he had felt bewitched, unable to accept any of it as truth.  It simply could not have been <em>real</em>.</p><p>Yet it had not been a dream.  He had never woken up from it.</p><p>Coming to terms with the twenty-first century had been a long journey.  Steve had not even begun the process when he had been summoned to meet Tony Stark and the rest of the <em>Avengers</em>.  At the time, he had almost pointed out what an odd name it had been, <em>avengers to </em>what<em>?</em>, but the <em>Howling Commandos </em>could have merited the same scrutiny. </p><p>Keeping his mouth shut had been a lesson he had learned early on in the twenty-first century.  Reticence could be mistaken for wisdom, but any fool could speak his ignorance.  Besides, he didn’t need to ask other human beings for answers: books had them.  When he ran out of books, he turned to the brand-new electronic library, the Internet.</p><p>It really had been terribly helpful.  His accidental discovery of The Google Company had improved his daily interactions immensely.  Early searches showcased an extraterrestrial’s fascination with a strange new world: <em>teleprompters, A batteries, electronic mail, fire drills, zip ties, language barriers</em>.  In short order, the search complexity had surged—by week three, results like<em> social security, surge protectors, lightning rods, net worth, </em>and <em>green energy </em>had made appearances.  As had<em> Twitter</em>.</p><p>Scrambling to appear well-adjusted, Steve Rogers had The Google Company to thank for much of his success.  It had still been a painful transition, a <em>crash-course </em>involving nearly seventy years of material, but learning the lingo had not been the hardest part.  Far more difficult had been the <em>desensitization</em>.  Not to things that went boo in the night—although there had certainly been plenty of them—but to the many futuristic novelties, like <em>vending machines</em> and <em>digital clocks</em>. </p><p>He could not stare and be marked an outsider; he had to appear normal.  He had to ignore all the extraordinary artifacts that his peers would have paused and gawked at, editorialized in groups as a sign of humanity’s ever-turning engine of progress.  There had been no one who could have appreciated his simple delight at the <em>television</em> <em>remote</em>.  It was its own curse—he could visit the future, but he could not celebrate it.</p><p>He had learned his lesson early on, made the mistake of gawking at the fancy new wireless telephones—<em>wireless telephones!</em>  As a result of his outspoken ignorance, S.H.I.E.L.D. had refused to give him one, insisting that he could use the landline if he needed something while he <em>reacclimated</em>.  Steve had suspected that they had been afraid to rattle his delicate sensibilities; <em>too damn late</em>, he had not told them.</p><p>Taking the initiative, he had gone out to purchase one for himself.</p><p>It had taken an entire day—finding a street vendor, forking over a sum of money that did not bear thinking about, and finally coaxing the magical little cube to life—but he had done it. </p><p>Then he had made his first wireless telephone call: to a local pizza company.  It had seemed like a safe bet.  The result had been gratifying: a steaming hot pizza, delivered right to his door.  It had been a terrific success, the mark of a man who had made his own way in the new world.</p><p>Although it had pained him to hand over even the comparatively small sum of cash (a crisp twenty-dollar-bill, the equivalent of <em>three hundred dollars</em> in spending money back-when; it had been all he could do to keep the pizza down, so guilty was he about indulging in something as simple as a <em>meal </em>in the new millennium), the exercise had been a welcome confidence boost.  Steve Rogers had become a modern man.  Fancy that.</p><p>The victory had not come too soon.  Shortly after that high-water mark, he had dug up a dark truth.  Apparently, not only had <em>digital cameras </em>made their debut, they had also been shrunk.  To say that their presence in his walls had been an unwelcome surprise would have been an understatement.</p><p>Steve had moved out the next day, insisting that he had not wanted nor needed a <em>guardian</em>.  Although it had clearly rankled them to do so, S.H.I.E.L.D. had let him go.</p><p>It had only been after he had cut loose that he had realized they had <em>expected</em> him to come back.  While S.H.I.E.L.D. had hardly been the sort of place one called <em>home-away-from-home</em>, it had been better than treading water in New York City.</p><p>Life in the big city had never been comfortable, not like the movie stars had made it out to be: no matter how much money Steve had had in the bank—invisible money in an invisible vault, and it had been a nightmare to contemplate because invisible money could <em>evaporate</em>—losing the support of a family that even halfway cared about him had been a cold shock, a cut from reality that had nearly left him on the streets. </p><p>At first, he had not even set up a place to stay.  Lost in his own head, he had wandered, only observing the differences between day and night as relevant.  He had spent a lot of time at the gym, burning off steam, trying to find sanity.</p><p>But S.H.I.E.L.D. had not cut him completely loose.  Not long after, Fury had shown up, requesting his appearance as Captain America.  It had quickly become apparent that if Steve couldn’t scrape himself together, then S.H.I.E.L.D. would do it for him.  For them, if not for him, he had to get himself <em>together</em>.</p><p>So, he had.  He had not wanted to—and that had been a cold shock, that he had not <em>wanted </em>to—but he had to, so he had shaped up.</p><p>In nearly that exact state-of-mind—living in an apartment with no tethers to the twenty-first century beyond his duty to God and country—Steve Rogers had met his new family.</p><p>Nice enough bunch.</p><p>For someone who had a reputation for killing people, Romanoff had been pleasant.  Hadn’t looked at him like he had been nuts or <em>that Captain America fella?</em>  (Steve would smile and lie, <em>I get that all the time</em>.)  She had not grown bored when he had run out of things to talk about, either.  She had liked long silences—Steve had, too.</p><p>Banner had been reserved and anxious, but Steve had experience with nervous soldiers.  He had slipped into the leadership role, exuding calm.  They had gotten along well enough.  Not the beginning of an epic friendship, but a <em>cordial </em>one.</p><p>Thor had been a handful, but he <em>had </em>been from another planet.  The cultural differences had almost been expected.  When all had been said and done, Steve had been grateful that he had walked away from the throw down in the forest.  Thor cooling his heels had helped.</p><p>It had not been the assassin, the science experiment gone wrong, or the demigod who had caused the most grief.  It had been Tony Stark.  Tony Stark who had made Steve see red, who had chewed his ear, who had nearly driven him to fisticuffs with his own <em>teammates</em>.  Tony Stark had been trouble from the start.</p><p>Had Steve looked more closely, he might have seen that there had been more to him, sooner.  Stark hadn’t been a <em>bad </em>fella.  He had been a real hellion, the kind of guy who liked to shout obscenities into the late-night until somebody came along, hauled him offstage, and reminded him, <em>Johnny, it ain’t worth it, it ain’t worth it</em>, before prying the bottle from his hand and hugging him for once, because nobody ever hugged Johnny, and Johnny wasn’t a bad fella, but Johnny’d be dead if nobody ever loved him.</p><p>Steve had wrangled so many Johnny’s in his day, but Stark had not been the guy who had accepted a helping hand easily: he had preferred to holler back rather than admit that he had been shaking inside.  He had been invincible.</p><p>And he always would be, right up until he wasn’t.</p><p>It had only been <em>after </em>the dust had settled from the attack on New York that Steve had finally gotten to <em>know</em> Tony Stark.</p><p>Admittedly, their first post-Chitauri encounter had not been much.  Huddling together at the dusty diner, sniffing strange food his cavernous stomach craved but his beleaguered eyes could not stay fixed on, Steve had caught Stark’s eyes flickering around the table, watching them like he was trying to understand how he had come to be there.  Steve had thought for the first time, <em>This guy is as lost as I am</em>.</p><p>They had all been lost, he had realized, looking at Clint and Natasha—first-names had been earned after saving the city of New York from marauding aliens—sharing chairs, like they had needed some kind of confirmation that they had not been alone.  The Good Doctor, munching on his meal like he would have been glad to disappear but gladder to be there.</p><p>And then there had been Thor, the hulking demigod—demigod?  For so long, there had only been one God and country, he knew, the turn-of-phrase he had named and known all his life, but the world <em>had </em>gotten stranger than he had imagined. </p><p>He no longer had the right vernacular to describe it, didn’t know if he even prayed to the ceiling or just asked it questions, if he spoke inside his head when it was totally quiet or just turned the lights off and hoped tomorrow would be better—Thor, alone, outcast, uncertain, more powerful than he could imagine.</p><p>Steve’s eyes had kept sliding shut on him, even though he couldn’t have said that he had been tired—he simply had had no desire to keep them open.  Maybe that had been what tired had become for him, in the new age.  If he had not slept in weeks, maybe that had become tired, anyway. </p><p>In his strange new body, there had become strange new rules.  At times, his hunger had been gnawing and all-consuming.  Other days, it had been the quietest beast imaginable, sated and restful, not stirring ‘til long after every proper meal had passed, and his world had begun to sway. </p><p>Sometimes, Steve could have listened to artillery fire for hours and hardly flinched.  Other days, he would have cussed out the private for firing his gun too close because the rapport would have been <em>nails </em>on <em>chalkboard </em>to him. </p><p>It had become a strange, unnavigable new world to him, long before he had gone on ice.</p><p>Tony Stark had made navigating it easier.</p><p>Tony Stark had become his lantern in the darkness—in many ways, Steve had learned to listen for Tony’s voice more than he listened to his own in the static silence, not knowing what to say to fit in but eager to <em>listen</em>, to absorb, to <em>experience</em>.  To prove that he <em>was </em>still alive.  <em>I survived the ice</em>, he had wanted to tell people, whenever they had put him in front of a microphone.  <em>I am still alive in here</em>.  Some days, it had felt like only Tony had seen him as a real person, no matter how much he had stumbled over words in front of him.</p><p>“What’s a kaleidoscope?” Steve had asked once, a rare question, because it had been a word he had encountered but could not spell and therefore could not ask anyone, not even The Google, and Tony had looked at him like he had known it was an unusual question before milling around his workshop and, turning up dry, instructed:</p><p>“Give me a day.”</p><p>True to his word, the next day, he had shown Steve one.  It had been like a telescope, but prettier, the art painted right onto its lens.  It had nearly made Steve cry, a question answered in a tangible way.</p><p>No longer had he been the starstruck man from the forties who had spent whole minutes marveling at little pendulums in his S.H.I.E.L.D.-appointed room, though it <em>still </em>shamed him to think about those moments, knowing that he had been <em>watched</em>, to see if Steve Rogers had still been <em>in there</em> or if his mind had been washed away by the ice.</p><p>Steve Rogers had become the fossil who would never, ever fit in.  He had become doomed to the life of a curiosity.  He had hated it.  He would never be a <em>person</em> again, only an artifact, something to be dug up and polished off and told to march in circles.  There had been no place in such a life for kaleidoscopes.</p><p>To experience that, he had needed to spend time with <em>Tony</em>.</p><p>The next time Steve had seen Tony, Tony had brought a whole box of novelties with him.  Tony had taken delight in showing off the novelties.  He had ignored or simply not noticed the way that Steve had kept looking around the room, wondering who was watching them.</p><p>Then Tony had produced a <em>spork</em> and asked Steve what he thought it was.  “A spoon,” Steve had replied.  When Tony had indicated the pointed edge, Steve had clarified, “A pointed spoon.”</p><p>Tony had grinned.  “One day, I’m gonna take you to an art museum,” he had insisted.  “And I want you to tell me what you see.”</p><p>Somehow, it had not felt like being made fun of—not even when Steve had asked, “Is that a giraffe?” and Tony had laughed ‘til he wheezed.  It had been a frank reminder that Tony Stark was not the invincible man the world thought he was, coughing into his arm, a harsh price to pay for a moment of levity because he had a car battery in his chest.  Sitting next to him as Tony calmed down, Steve had not been able to suppress the thought:</p><p><em>You’re human, too</em>.</p><p>They’d spent a good deal of time loafing around, admiring and making fun of the art—Steve unintentionally, Tony with great joy—and when Steve’s stomach had growled, Tony had invited him to dinner, and maybe <em>that </em>had been their first date.</p><p>Except it hadn't been, because Steve had been sure that Tony Stark had been otherwise engaged, if not outright <em>engaged</em>. </p><p>Not wanting to ruin the friendly atmosphere by bringing up any potential Missus, Steve had let the night drag on, listening to Tony talk and talk and <em>talk</em>, showing Steve designs, fancier cellular phone, like Steve had been there to listen. </p><p>It had been lovely and easy.  Steve had been genuinely sorry to return to his own apartment, alone.  His own little absence-of-a-life, alone.</p><p>It had been confusing, that his life had become <em>easiest </em>with Tony Stark.  Steve felt truly alive whenever they were together.  The three weeks they had to spend apart due to business concerns were so distressingly draining that Steve had worried he was nothing but a parasite, leaching off any warmth he could find in a life so wanting.</p><p>Then <em>Tony </em>had invited him to come over, spend the night.  Steve had barely hesitated, hadn’t asked, <em>Isn’t there a line?</em> </p><p>It had been a real party.  There had been a cake and everything.  It had only been Tony and Clint peppering the cake with candles before shoving it under his nose that had clued him in to the fact that it had been <em>his </em>birthday.</p><p>He had not felt deserving of a birthday, had felt strange about it—he couldn’t remember the last time he had had a cake or <em>celebrated </em>anything—but he had solemnly blown out the candles and tried to ignore the fact that, on some level, he had been <em>ninety-four-years-old</em>.</p><p>He had excused himself, intending to leave, but Tony had caught him on the way out, telling him that he could get a different cake, looking like he could still salvage the situation if he spoke fast enough.  A fast talker, a real showman who had gotten caught up with a <em>fossil</em>, the one person who could never hope to keep up with him.</p><p>Steve had kept up his crummy excuse about being tired, but Tony had insisted candidly, “Well, then, let me show you my Audi.”</p><p>Steve had had no idea what an <em>Audi </em>even was, but the painful hope on Tony’s face had been impossible to turn down, so he had followed along, bone-weary, and seen the Audi. </p><p>Tony’s enthusiasm for it, like it had been his <em>firstborn</em>, had been hard to not smile to—heck, it had been impossible not to smile to, the way Tony had leaped clean over the door and wriggled excitedly in his seat, like he didn’t get to drive cars very often.</p><p>Tony had been so happy, just to keep talking, to keep playing the game.  He had talked so much he had started talking to a third person, a <em>robot</em>, located somewhere in the room who he had called “Jarvis,” but its name was all capitalized because it stood for—“Just a Rather Very Intelligent System—I’m a genius, I can name it whatever I want,” Tony had justified, like he had cared about Steve’s opinion.</p><p>“It’s a good name,” Steve had replied, sliding into the passenger’s seat.</p><p>Motorbikes had always been fun, but he had to be in control of the bike or bad things happened.</p><p>He had ridden in Army vehicles and even <em>driven </em>a plane into the ocean—tried to, anyway; in the last few stretching seconds of consciousness, he’d thought that the ocean had been awful white-blue, and then they had told him he had woken up in <em>ice</em>—but riding shotgun had been a wild ride, in the best way.</p><p>For starters, Tony Stark had handled a car twice as well as any other driver or pilot Steve had ever been with—and that was a fact.  Tony had been born with wheels for heels—a consequence or a precursor to his suits, it didn’t matter.  Tony Stark was an inverse Achilles—and he had laughed when Steve had told him, showing him some sort of <em>wheeled shoes </em>on his phone that had only depreciated the thing because Tony was a <em>natural</em>, he was <em>talented</em> with machines, in a way that didn’t come easily to people used to digging dirt with their own hands or, at best, firing a gun with a trigger—but Tony effortlessly showed Steve around the city, exercising patience and spontaneity in equal measure.</p><p>And Steve had wished in that moment, in that night that lasted a lifetime, that Tony Stark had been the one who had found him, who had <em>shown </em>him that the world had not been half-so-bad, sparing him the grief of finding out the good, bad, and ugly on his own. </p><p><em>He found me now</em>, Steve had thought, curving an arm over the open window as the Audi had purred down an open road, well outside the city, feeling like he had finally gotten free, for the first time since he had seen white-blue ice outside the windshield, sixty-seven years ago.</p><p>Steve had moved in that night, and in epically reverse order, kept Tony Stark’s bed warm, because it really <em>wasn’t </em>every day one turned twenty-nine.</p><p>And the next five years?  That was history.</p><p>History was awfully nice sometimes, Steve thought.  It had been kind to him, to them.  They had survived, no matter how hard it had been.</p><p>They had always survived, no matter how hard it had been, Steve thought, curving his hand around Tony’s, squeezing.</p><p>Tony squeezed back, eyes shut, breathing behind the oxygen mask. </p><p>Hooked up to an IV, painfully vulnerable to outsiders without his armor, Tony reclined on the gurney, not asleep but not talking, saving his breath.  He would need it, Steve knew—he always did, for every interaction with every stranger. </p><p>Everyone wanted a piece of Tony Stark, but all too often, it was only the Tony Stark they imagined that they wanted.  The sweet, gregarious Tony Stark who offered to take them for a ride in his Audi, not the hurting Tony Stark who could not string together two sentences for want of breath.</p><p>Steve was happy to sit beside Tony exactly as he was, hand curved over his, telling him quietly, “Remember when we went to Hawaii?”  Tony made an <em>mm-hm</em> sound, just audible behind the mask.  “Never did see those volcanoes.  We got caught up.  But that waterfall.  That was really something.  Nice.”</p><p>Bringing Tony’s hand to his mouth and kissing his wrist, he added in the same soothing tone, “I wouldn’t mind going back.  Ditch the kids.”  Tony made another noise of agreement, slitting an eye open to look at him.  “They’re good.  They’ve got good <em>hearts</em>,” he clarified, cupping Tony’s cold hand between both of his own warm ones.  “Came all this way to spend time with you.  Good kids.”  Natasha was his peer, but Clint was nearly twice his age and so was Bruce, yet Steve was twice <em>their </em>age with the ice was factored in.</p><p>“Love waking up, seeing the water,” Steve went on, rubbing Tony’s hand, warming it.  “You’d think, after everything, I wouldn’t really like the ocean—but I don’t remember much, I don’t think about it much,” he said, half-assuring, half-wishing it so.  “It’s the clouds that stand out, you know—that’s what—that’s what I, you know, what I—I never reached the water.”  Swallowing, he said, “The water’s beautiful.  Just not out that deep.  Not that far north.”</p><p>Squeezing <em>his </em>hand, Tony closed his eyes again.  The IV bag continued to drip saline into his veins: killing saltwater in one context, lifesaving in another. </p><p>“How about the backside of water, huh?” Steve asked, redirecting, smirking at the memory of Skipper Tom’s jubilant cry on the <em>Jungle Cruise</em> as they had passed by inner edge of the little waterfall. </p><p>“That’s a sight you don’t see every day.  Feel like I’ve seen it all, now.  The backside of water,” Steve repeated, shaking his head to himself, amused.  “Didn’t even hit the faucet, either.”  Tony smirked.  “Don’t give Barton any ideas,” Steve added solemnly, taking what he could get and running with it.  “He’ll try it.”</p><p>Rasping, Tony said, “Thought he was all-in-one today.”</p><p>“So he said,” Steve said, resisting the urge to reprimand, <em>Don’t talk</em>.  It was hard enough to haul Tony off to a hospital, knowing how much Tony <em>hated </em>hospitals.  It was worse to make him miserable by denying him simple things. </p><p>Steve had already done everything he could to make him more comfortable—requested three heated blankets (two were never enough, and his circulation was so poor, and the hospitals were so damn <em>cold</em>), turned off the overhead light, even hauled a chair over so he could be right beside him, close—but it still didn’t feel like enough. </p><p>Leaning up to kiss the top of Tony’s head, Steve offered anyway, “S’gonna be okay, Tony.  I promise.”</p><p>Tony squeezed his hand halfheartedly, but the gratitude was still there.  The docs wouldn’t say anything like it—made no promises beyond <em>we’ll take good care of you</em>.  And although Tony held himself with admirable poise, Steve didn’t need terrific observational skills to know that he was under great duress. </p><p>At least the reassurances helped: his gaze flicked to the heart rate monitor as it ticked down a few notches.  Pressing a long kiss to Tony’s wrist, he ached to trade places.</p><p>It killed him to put Tony under stress, but it had been far worse to see Tony nearly unresponsive.  Slumped against Steve’s arm, Tony had been fading.  Steve had not hesitated to make the call for him. </p><p>With thankfully minimal fanfare, they had gotten him to the nearest hospital, where Tony’s sluggishness had quickly been understood—a scan of his intake vitals had revealed a guy who was breathing through a straw on a tank that was barely half-full.</p><p>It hurt to upset him, but it would have killed Steve to endanger him, to let anything <em>bad </em>happen to him.  Despite his reservations, Steve was glad to be there, to see Tony taken care of, even if the whole thing made Steve’s skin crawl.  He couldn’t imagine how Tony felt, even though he was quiescent, for now—exhausted, anyway.  That was fine—Steve was happy to be the brick wall, the bodyguard, the all-in-one <em>keep the bad guys away</em> sentinel.</p><p>Lo: a knock came on the other side of the clear door.  Tony blinked, almost cross-eyed, then made a surprised, almost alarmed sound when the door slid back and admitted a familiar face. </p><p>“Hey,” Bruce Banner said, overdressed in sunglasses, hat, hoodie, and <em>fanny-pack </em>on his belt.  “Is this—room taken?” he asked in an imitation of small talk, shutting the door behind himself.  Tony breathed noisily behind the mask, sounding panicked and awful.  Steve squeezed his hand, sitting up straighter, wanting to curl around him.  “Hey,” Bruce repeated, stuffing hat and sunglasses into his fanny-pack.  “It’s okay.”</p><p>Tony reached up with his tethered hand slowly—he hated tubes under his skin, called ‘em a<em> highway to my heart</em>—but Steve folded his hand over Tony’s chest to thwart him, afraid he would pry the mask off.  “Easy,” Steve said in the lowest, calmest voice he had.  The heart rate monitor continued to kick up; Tony’s breathing remained loud.  “You’re okay—Tony—”</p><p>“Let me?” Bruce asked.  Surprised but out of water, Steve nodded, easing back.  “I got it,” Bruce added, turning with the air of two buddies fussing with something they shouldn’t to clunk down the bedside railing and sit down on the gurney edge.  “Anybody asks, I, uh, did that on accident,” he said, hip resting against Tony’s.  “Oops.”  He smoothed the wires hooked up to Tony’s arms and chest with ease, uncharacteristic for someone who claimed not to be a doctor.  Bruce <em>had </em>volunteered extensively in the field.  <em>The world needs little people—can’t all be heart surgeons</em>.  He was the opposite of Tony Stark: a meek, loner compared to the outgoing, effervescent Tony Stark.</p><p>Looking at them then, one would think it was the other way around.</p><p>“I don’t like good-news-bad-news,” Bruce began, seated like a Buddhist monk on a hilltop, very different from the hand-fidgeting wanderer Steve so often encountered, “because that’s what wards are for.  You’re in the <em>good news </em>ward.  I’ve seen the <em>bad news </em>ward.  Most people still make it out of the <em>bad news </em>ward, so there’s really only <em>good news </em>and <em>we’ll do our damnedest to get you to better news </em>wards.  Okay?  You’re already <em>here</em>, and that’s good.”</p><p>Bruce slid his hand under Tony’s IV hand.  Tony didn’t reciprocate his grip, afraid to touch, but he didn’t withdraw, needing the distraction.  Giving him mental space, Steve slid his hand to Tony’s hip.  “HIPAA protects you from everyone here.  We’ll protect you from the rest.  You—eyes shut, keep breathing.  Okay?  Twist his arm all you want,” he nodded at Steve, “use the call button,” whatever-the-heck-<em>that</em>-was, “and do not hesitate to ask if you need something.  Watch some TV, okay?”  He scooped up a strange remote and instructed Steve, “Try it out.”</p><p>Obligingly, Steve flicked through the channels.  He reached a nature program, but Tony let out a low moan that was clearly a <em>no</em>.  Resuming his search, Steve found, of all things, <em>Finding Nemo</em>.  Another moan—this time affirmative—stayed Steve’s hand.</p><p>On screen, the blue and the orange fish were in the middle of an argument, which seemed relaxing.</p><p>“Take a nap,” Bruce continued, holding onto Tony’s hand as Tony’s breathing deepened behind the mask.  “I’ll check the math twice so you don’t have to.  I’ll even let Steve check it—he can handle long algebra, can’t he?”</p><p>Steve gulped silently.  “Math’s not my—” he began.</p><p>Tony smiled, even though his eyes were sinking, slits.</p><p>“Kidding,” Bruce assured, offering a smile that was surprisingly comforting, a joke between friends.  Friends—they <em>were </em>friends.  It was easy to forget, sometimes, that they weren’t just Avengers, that Bruce Banner wasn’t just Tony Stark’s pal and Steve Rogers’s occasional problem—no, Bruce was part of the family, too.  “Speak now or hold your piece,” Bruce added, nodding at Tony.</p><p>“What’s HIPAA?” Steve asked.</p><p>“The, uh, Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act,” Bruce replied.  “It protects patients’ confidentiality.”  When Tony let out a long sigh, Bruce eased back, adding, “Want me to hang outside, or—?”</p><p>Tony gripped his hand, squeezing it.  Bruce affirmed, “’kay, consider me kiddy cornered.  If I harangue your—Steve, it’s fair game.”</p><p>Almost a croak, Tony corrected: “Your Steve.  Our Steve.”</p><p>Bruce smiled.  Steve reached up, carded a hand through Tony’s hair, and shushed, “Quiet.  You heard him.”</p><p>“Mm,” was all Tony said, eyes shut, tipping his head towards Steve’s hand.</p><p>Brushing his thumb against Tony’s cheek, Steve repeated the motion until Tony’s breathing was steadier, nearly the only noise in the room. </p><p>“I always liked this one,” Bruce acknowledged, taking a seat in the chair parked against the wall underneath the TV.  Craning his head around to look at it, he added, “I always liked the seagulls.”</p><p>“Seagulls?” Steve repeated, frowning.  It had been a while since he had seen the film.  “Don’t they . . . <em>eat </em>fish?”</p><p>“Kids’ movie,” Bruce assured, still watching the screen as he asked: “What happened?”</p><p>Steve drew in a long breath.  “What’s <em>gonna </em>happen?” he counter proposed.</p><p>Nodding, Bruce rearranged his chair for better viewing as the fish entered dangerous-looking waters before saying, “Depends on what’s <em>already </em>happened.”  Steve suspected he wasn’t trying to be obtuse, confirmed when Bruce added, “That’s not me trying to be obtuse—did they do an EKG?  Electrocardiogram, it’s like, a, uh—”</p><p>But Steve nodded—it had been the first thing they had done.  If he had to act solely on Tony’s behalf, he was supposed to ask three questions—<em>Are breathing tubes involved?  Is general anesthesia involved?  Is it dangerous with a pacemaker?</em>—and if the answer was <em>no</em> across the board, then necessary tests were permissible.  Fortunately, the oxygen mask had been brought up when Tony had been lucid enough to speak.  Even so, as soon as they had been alone with it, Tony had whined, “<em>Don’t like this</em>,” in an undertone.</p><p>“EKG, blood-work, maybe chest X-ray, just to be sure there’s not a clot—” Bruce was rambling.  Looking back at Tony, Bruce asked, “They do blood-work from the port or—?”</p><p>Steve said, “They did blood-work.”  He had no idea what <em>the port </em>meant, other than a space to dock a boat.  He would have to look it up.</p><p>“That’s great,” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair.  After a long beat, he said, “So, uh.”  Stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets, he asked, “So—you two—that is what I think it is, right?”  He nodded at Tony’s hand.</p><p>Steve looked over, blinking rapidly when he saw that Tony’s tethered hand had the black band on it.  He swallowed hard, a strange emotion welling up in his throat.  He could not respond.</p><p>Shuffling out of his chair, he gathered Tony into his arms.  Tony grumbled sleepily, too exhausted to rouse, too aware not to notice.  Balancing Tony against his chest, Steve rested his chin on top of Tony’s head, longing to take him away from all the hurt.  His eyes burned, but there were no tears, only the cloying feeling in his chest that would not let go.  With a soft groan, Tony roused more fully, and Steve finally set him down.</p><p>Unable to help himself, Steve took Tony’s hand in his own and held it to his mouth.  Tony’s fingers flexed, the barest acknowledgement: <em>I’m here</em>.  Steve set it down.  Turning to the movie, he tried to focus on it, aware of the unanswered question.  At last, Steve said quietly, “He’s everything to me.”</p><p>Bruce didn’t seem to know how to respond, gaze flicking to the heart rate monitor before returning to Steve.  His expression was soft, sorry.  “Nothing bad’s gonna happen to him,” Bruce promised.  “Too many of us.  Whole wall to break the wave.  Besides.”</p><p>Nodding, Bruce said, “It gets better.  Doesn’t feel like it, but—in a few hours—it’ll get better.  We’ll have answers.  He’s right there,” he added.  Steve looked and saw Tony Stark in a hospital bed, pale and so unlike his usual lively self.  “And we’re right here.  That’s what counts.  Besides,” he added, “you know things are good when you’re left alone.  This?  Quiet?  This is good, Cap.”  Solemnly, Bruce added, “He’s the toughest guy I know.  And I’ve known some tough people.”</p><p>Resting his chin on top of Tony’s hand, Steve shut his eyes, not in the same <em>kind </em>of exhaustion, but simple dread, afraid to lose his best friend, his good morning and good night.</p><p>“This is why I don’t get attached to people,” Bruce said lightly, drawing him from his thoughts.  “Tried it, once.”  Steve looked over.  Bruce grimaced.  “It’s brave.”</p><p>Steve didn’t know what to say: <em>It’s not optional.  It’s what I want to do.  It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.  </em>He settled on: “It’s easy.”</p><p>Bruce said, “You two make me believe it is.”</p><p>Steve kissed Tony’s unadorned hand, even though Tony was asleep, because it <em>was</em> easy.</p>
<hr/><p>“Most people don’t age,” Tony rasped, sitting beside Steve on the balcony of their hotel room, enjoying the midday sun with an air of immense weariness about his shoulders.  He went on:</p><p>“In their minds.  They stay somewhere they <em>like</em>.  The body keeps going, but the mind. . . .”  Shaking his head, nostalgic and rueful, he elaborated, “It doesn’t go much farther than those golden years.  Doesn’t forget the time when you <em>could </em>run up three flights of stairs.  You <em>could </em>do that, but you <em>can’t </em>anymore.  That’s aging.  The body wearing out.  Like a car.  The only question is . . .”  Pausing to sip his drink, he finished, “Do we keep fixing up old cars?  Or do we try and set the mind <em>free</em>?”</p><p>Steve sat with that for a moment.  “You like cars,” he pointed out.</p><p>“I do.  But I also like . . . <em>novelty</em>,” Tony said.  “<em>Ideas</em>.  Innovation.  Sounds wretched when you put it that way,” he muttered, sipping his drink.  His voice was still reedier than normal, but a little oxygen therapy had gone a long way.  Tony's complexion wasn’t back to normal, but it looked better.</p><p>“I like having an end goal,” Tony went on.  “Why build a bridge into the middle of the ocean?  <em>To get to the other side.</em>  And I want to know . . . do we try to fix the human machine, or do we become non-corporeal beings who live on some kind of phase two Internet?  Does that make sense?”</p><p>“Most things don’t,” Steve admitted.</p><p>Tony set his drink down and said briskly, “People think the Internet’s finished, but we’re still in phase one.  Phase two will really knock our socks off.  That’s where the big dilemmas come in.  Do we try to stop people from living entirely virtual lives?  Do we unplug before it’s too late?”  With a conspiratorial gleam in his eye, he added, “It’s already too late.  It’s one of those boxes that can never be closed once it’s opened.”</p><p>“Pandora,” Steve said.</p><p>Tony flicked his gaze over to him, ambivalent but—impressed.  “Pandora,” he agreed. </p><p>Looking out over the Seven Seas Lagoon, Tony was silent for a moment.  Then he said, “You know, at first, I thought, <em>Why call it that?</em>  But land of <em>possibility</em>, of better-left-<em>untouched</em>.  Of Avatars.  Dragons.  <em>Banshees</em>,” he amended.  He waved a hand in sly self-correction; the Band-Aid on the back—the last trace of the long-gone IV—was still there.  The red marks around his face from the oxygen mask had long since faded.  “Should we build it?  For real?  And if we do, how much does it cost to go to Pandora, if only in your dreams?”</p><p>Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath that got stuck halfway—hitching like a gear that didn’t turn a full revolution, stunted lungs trying to expand into a compromised chest cavity and falling back when they inevitably found themselves thwarted—Tony exhaled prematurely.  In that world-weary moment, he looked every one of his forty-eight years. </p><p>With quiet but profound fatigue, he announced, “Do I wanna ditch the car?  No.  The best machine ever made was the human body.  But do I miss what I was ten years ago?  Twenty years ago?”  Shaking his head, he stated brusquely, “This is why I don’t talk about—”</p><p>“Well,” Steve cut him off, quietly but intentionally, “as maybe the world’s leading authority on—losing something, a long, long time ago,” and he had Tony’s attention—a humbling gift from a man so compelling, who poured out new ideas every day and still was full to the brim with them—“I think you gotta look at what you stand to lose now, if you could go back.</p><p>“And yeah,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair, comfortable with having the floor, with the only topic he could ever speak authoritatively on in the presence of somebody who would never judge him for it, “I miss it.  I miss when Nathan’s hotdogs cost a nickel and tasted like somebody’s dream job was to cook hotdogs.  I miss the smell of gasoline so <em>pungent</em> it makes everything seem like it’s been . . . covered in <em>Lysol </em>and left alone for half a century.  I miss the conversations on street corners about problems I understood. </p><p>“Above all, I just really miss the people,” he said, impressed at the depth of his own grief, swallowing before he could continue.  “But home isn’t . . . home is who you <em>are</em>.  It’s the uniform you put on, and who trusts you, and where you put your shoes when you’re not wearing them.  And . . . I’ve had enough homes to see that—this one, it ain’t so bad.”</p><p>Curling a hand around Tony’s cold one, he affirmed, “You know, home was always . . . for me, it was elusive.  But when I lost all of it, it felt like something was really taken from me.  And it’s like you said—you put ‘em altogether, all the memories, all the sights and sounds.  But the war’s over, Tony.  And we did win.  We get to live with this.</p><p>“And yeah, I can’t get Nathan’s hotdogs for a nickel anymore, but there’s so much <em>more</em> now.”  Gesturing at the Lagoon in front of and below them, he emphasized, “<em>Look</em> at that, Tony, that’s not even a real lake; somebody <em>made </em>that.  Who would have thought of that, just for people to look at?”</p><p>“It’s also very useful for ferries,” Tony chimed in conversationally.  Some unspoken tension about him had vanished, the lines around his eyes gone.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” Steve said simply.  “And if . . . if I’d stayed where I was supposed to, I don’t think I’d ever seen it.  I don’t know if I’d even have enjoyed it, if I’d’ve seen it the proper way.  Seeing it all at once, it makes you really see it.”</p><p>“You have a beautiful way of looking at the world,” Tony said, surprising him.</p><p>“Two working eyes,” Steve said, “and an incomparable,” he brought Tony’s hand his mouth and brushed a kiss against his knuckles, “fiancé.  Honestly, if I lived in a box on the streets for the rest of my life, I’d be happy.  Nobody deserves this.  And <em>nobody</em> deserves to go through what you did.  But you did.”</p><p>Tony looked right at him, his eyes a brilliant shade of burnished copper, so unlike the liquid silver or electric blue he so loved to adorn himself in.  Underneath all the metal, earth tones dusted his hair and shone molten from his eyes.  Iron Man’s stellar white-blue eyes were fascinating, almost hypnotic, in their own way, but underneath, the raw humanity was visible in Tony’s wide-eyed gaze.</p><p>Tony’s interest could be extremely elusive—<em>social butterfly</em> was an apt term for someone so brilliant and ephemeral, flitting around a room but never lingering in one moment for too long—and yet, when he chose to settle somewhere, his gaze was electrifying.  Tony had a way of looking at people like they were all important, regardless of what their historical role would be, and the way he looked at Steve, quietly attentive, yielding so little emotion yet unflinchingly present—it made love swell in Steve’s chest.</p><p>Looking down at their intertwined hands, Steve stated, “You did go through it.  And now you’re . . .”  But he ran out of words, looking up at Tony and insisting, “<em>you</em>.  Because of this.”  He let go of Tony’s hand to flatten his palm over his own sternum.  “Not just in spite of.  And you know what?”</p><p>“Hm?” Tony asked, low, curious, his eyes gleaming in the way that showed he was listening and trying so hard not to show more than the coolest veneer, the most put-together self.</p><p>“You carry it with so much grace.  Made it part of you.  And I’m never gonna know what that’s like, but I <em>do </em>know what it’s like to not be able to go up three flights of stairs.  I wish you didn’t have to, but you—keep livin’, Tony.  That kind of grace—that’s <em>you</em>.  You’ve made this your life.  And it’s a life that . . . honestly, nobody should do anything but <em>admire</em>.”</p><p>Tony’s gaze flickered over him.  Then he stepped up to the railing.  When Steve joined him, Tony leaned his shoulder into Steve’s.  “People do, you know,” Steve insisted.  “I get letters, I know you do.  People look at you and see a guy who overcame adversity.  Who—”</p><p>“And if they knew?” Tony interrupted.  There was no malice in his tone, only empty resignation.  “That it was a façade?”</p><p>“You think the people in hospitals fighting for their lives are less brave than the ones who make it outside?  No—some days are just better than others.”  Shrugging, Steve added, “It’s good that people can keep living.  Grab joy whenever you can.  But <em>you</em>—do you even know how much you <em>do</em>?  If you quit <em>today</em>, you’d have done more than most people could do in ten lifetimes.” </p><p>Keeping his expression blank, Steve poked the bear: “Honestly, at this stage, you could even <em>retire</em>—”</p><p>Tony made a predictably aggrieved noise, stiffening up and growling, “Did you <em>seriously </em>just suggest—”</p><p>“I wouldn’t say <em>seriously</em>,” Steve drawled, smirking as Tony nudged him hard.  “<em>Hypothetically</em>, maybe—”</p><p>Making a disgusted noise, Tony turned away from him, slid back the door, and stepped inside their hotel room.  “Uh huh.  Keep it up.  I will make you sleep outside.”</p><p>“You keep sayin’ that,” Steve said, following him, catching the Figment plush Tony chucked at his head and setting it on the nearby table.  “Honestly, I’m just waitin’ for it to happen.”</p><p>“It’s a heck of a view,” Tony warned, crouching next to his bag and sifting through it.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Steve said, shutting the door.  “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“What’s it <em>look </em>like?”  Stripping off his shirt and undersuit, he added, “Don’t look at me, I’m <em>indecent</em>.”</p><p>Sighing, Steve sat on the edge of the bed and replied, “You know, the Victorian era was <em>well </em>before my time.”</p><p>“When you say it in that tone of voice, it really doesn’t help your case,” Tony said, rummaging around without a shirt on.  “Which park are we going to?”</p><p>Steve blanched.  “Which—what?”</p><p>“Which park?  EPCOT?  Animal Kingdom?  Hollywood Studios?”  Slipping on a shirt, he added, “Choose wisely.”</p><p>Blinking several times, Steve said, “Isn’t one park enough for one day?”  Looking at the time, he added, “It’s three o’clock, mister.”</p><p>“Gee, mister,” Tony echoed, putting on his watch, “hadn’t even noticed.  You think they’ll even let us in?  Parks close at nine.”</p><p>Seriously, Steve said, “Tony, you just got out of the <em>hospital</em>.”</p><p>“First off, I did not <em>just get out of the hospital</em>, because I wasn’t <em>admitted </em>to the hospital,” Tony corrected, pushing himself to his feet.  “Second—what’s our status acquiring on a milkshake?  Because my mouth is a desert.”</p><p>Jaw set, Steve said, “Tony—”</p><p>“I’ll take it <em>easy</em>,” Tony said, flapping a hand at him.  “I’ll sleep for a week after this, you know me.  Give me one half-day.  Quarter-day,” he bargained.</p><p>Steve watched him walk around, looking for any signs of unsteadiness.  Other than sand-paper-y around the vocal cords, he seemed his usual, harried self.  And it <em>was </em>their last day in Disney.  If ever there was a time to <em>carpe diem</em>.</p><p>Sighing, Steve said, “One park.  <em>Briefly</em>.”</p><p>“Of course,” Tony agreed triumphantly, back to him, fishing around and producing a bottle of pills before chucking it back in the bag.  “Where’s<em> gum </em>when you need it?  Don’t they sell any?”</p><p>“I think Bruce brought some,” Steve acknowledged.</p><p>“Sorry,” Bruce said, appearing five minutes later in their doorway empty-handed.  “They don’t sell any on property.”</p><p>“Really?” Tony asked, rubbing his brow.  “That’s annoying.  Well—can’t have everything.  Chewing tobacco it is.”</p><p>“<em>Tony</em>,” Steve chided, as Tony made a show of digging in a pocket.</p><p>“I’m <em>kidding</em>,” Tony said, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own.  “We’re going to Dinosaur Land.  You in?”</p><p>“What?” Bruce asked faintly.</p><p>“<em>Dinosaur </em>Land?” Steve echoed incredulously.</p><p>“Tony, is that really a—” Bruce began, his voice still that will-o-the-whispers <em>I don’t think we should enter the ‘do not enter’ zone.</em>  “Your heart?”</p><p>“Whatever happened to the good old pat-on-the-ass and ‘you’re cured’?” Tony demanded, rolling his eyes with palpable frustration.</p><p>“I just think,” started Bruce.</p><p>“If that’s what you want,” Steve cut in, meeting Bruce’s deer-in-headlights eyes and saying firmly, “then that’s what we’ll do.”</p><p>“Great.  I hear they have <em>fabulous </em>milkshakes.”</p><p>“Well, chalk one up for Dino Land,” Steve said.  Capturing Tony around the shoulders, he insisted, “Take it easy.  There’s no rush.”</p><p>“Of course,” Tony said.  “Can’t give this old man palpitations.  I was thinking we go on an expedition—”</p><p>“Oh, God, Tony,” Bruce said, paling visibly, which was more than enough for Steve to begin to set his foot down on the terrifically well-reviewed but decidedly daunting attraction known as <em>Expedition Everest</em>—</p><p>“To the <em>prehistoric land of the dinosaurs</em>,” Tony finished, slipping out from under Steve’s hold and huffing, “I don’t need to see the mountaintop to find Zeus.”  Nodding at the little marshmallow-shaped Yeti plush perched on their bed, a souvenir from <em>Everest’s </em>foothills purchased by none other than Clint Barton in commemoration of Tony’s big day, Tony said simply, “Let’s round up the gang and get cookin’.  Got places to be and lamp oil to burn.”</p>
<hr/><p>Steve had run less tense ops for S.H.I.E.L.D.</p><p>Of course, most of the time, he was just looking out for himself, not somebody who had recently been—<em>not admitted to a hospital</em>.  He couldn’t help but be <em>watchful</em>, ready to leap at the first sign of trouble.  He wouldn’t have minded if Tony’s pride could have suffered a wheelchair—watching him stride around the Polynesian Resort had been a painfully acute trust exercise—but at least their gaudily decorated <em>Minnie Van </em>had taken them right up to the gates of the Animal Kingdom, Disney’s largest and most spread out theme park.</p><p>A quick consultation of the hard map in Tony’s baby blue backpack had revealed that <em>DinoLand, U.S.A.</em> was tucked in the Southeast corner of Animal Kingdom, as far from the gates as anything in the park could be.  “Don’t <em>worry</em>,” Tony crooned, sounding overjoyed to be free even though Steve was already regretting his decision to sign off on the plan.  “It’ll be fine.  Really.  Just you wait.”  He reached up to stroke the head of his blue-and-purple Banshee, balanced neatly on one shoulder.  <em>If you’re gonna go to Animal Kingdom</em>, he had said, <em>why not bring your pet dragon?</em></p><p>Animal Kingdom was unique, even among the Disney parks—unlike its companions, it was equal parts Zoo and amusement park, <em>themed </em>to resemble what Steve honestly suspected the real <em>Jurassic Park </em>would look like.  The knowledge that that was precisely where they were heading nearly stayed his hand at the gate, but he obediently swept his Magic Bracelet through the scanner after the others and stepped through the turnstile, even though he sensed, with good reason, that there was something afoot out there.</p><p>Turning to address the clan, Clint pointed at the Banshee on Tony’s shoulder and said, “I want one,” to which Tony replied:</p><p>“My money, my milkshake first.”</p><p>“What if I bought it?”</p><p>“Then you miss out on the dinosaurs,” Tony replied.</p><p>Clint pouted, wheedling, “Give me something, Stark.  One bone.  I brought you your bags.  Twice.”</p><p>Clint had—the Cinderella Suite luggage had not made it to Steve and Tony's room, but Clint and Natasha’s.  They had agreed it might not be a good idea to have Disney cast members ferreting through Iron Man and Captain America’s room, especially with their iconic weaponry in plain view, so they had sent it their way instead.  Clint had been appointed the unofficial bellhop.  So far, his services had come free.</p><p>Free no more: “I will give you a bone,” Tony insisted.  “And then a Banshee.  Or you can get one yourself.  The choice is yours.”</p><p>Clint did a one-eighty: “Can we go on <em>Expedition Everest</em>?”</p><p>Steve expected an immediate reply of, <em>No, we’re going on the dinosaur ride</em>.</p><p>But Tony consulted his phone, saying, “If you can get there in the next five minutes, then—”</p><p>Clint grabbed <em>Steve’s </em>sleeve and started hauling.  “We’re there.”</p><p>Steve turned to argue and saw Bruce cowering behind Tony, who assured him, “No, you’re with me.”</p><p>“Hang on,” Steve began, but Clint just insisted:</p><p>“No can do, you know how long the wait gets?  C’mon, Cap.  I’ve been dying to do this.”</p><p>“You rode it <em>twice</em>,” Steve pointed out rightfully, not digging in the heels just yet—he could hear Tony and Bruce already chatting in the background, setting their own leisurely gait.  It clicked, then: <em>I’m the distraction</em>. </p><p>Natasha had opted out of their impromptu adventure—apparently, one visit to Animal Kingdom was enough for her, and the only park she cared to return to was EPCOT, because its ratio of booze-to-square-footage was worth the trip—but Clint had been all-in as soon as they had announced their desire to return to the park.  “And I will <em>ride it </em>twice more,” Clint insisted, “c’mon, Steve, I can’t drag you, you’re too heavy.”</p><p>Sighing, aware that the lack of argument had been Tony’s way of saying, <em>Scram</em>, Steve picked up his pace until he was forcing Clint to nearly jog alongside him.  “So, tell me about it,” Steve ordered.  At least he wouldn’t go in blind.</p><p>As they made their way across the red rock roads under the sprawling boughs of rainforest-like canopies, Clint laid out the concept of the ride.  It didn’t seem so bad.  As they drew nearer, the park became more immersive, until they were deep within the imagined Asian nation of <em>Anandapur</em>, complete with huts and village artifacts that made it seem as if, well and truly, they and their five thousand closest tourist friends had stumbled across the legendary Yeti’s stomping grounds.</p><p>“You know,” Steve said, sweating in the heat as they approached the ride’s line, looking up at the car screaming down the mountain, full of shrieking passengers, “this’d be more . . . <em>immersive</em> if it was about sixty degrees cooler.”</p><p>“Try ninety,” Clint prompted, giving no quarter as he propelled Steve into the line, with the lo-and-behold wait time of just ten minutes.</p><p>“Not so bad,” Steve said, and Clint pointed out:</p><p>“Just enough time to enjoy the view.”</p><p>Steve wasn’t sure how they could really enjoy the mountain up close inside the building, but then he saw what Clint really meant: like the Banshee cave, there was more to the line than simple turnstiles winding around each other.  There was expedition gear strung around, photographs and music all building a sense of being outside the park and within a <em>museum</em>. </p><p>Despite Clint’s claim, there wasn’t time to admire any of it—they were moving constantly, and only Steve’s exceptionally brisk reading comprehension allowed him to quickly piece together notices and warnings about the Yeti sightings.</p><p>“Seems like this thing’s a real troublemaker,” he observed.</p><p>“Yeah,” Clint huffed, pulling him along.  “You could say that.”</p><p>All too soon, they were at the loading station.  It was eerie how similar it was to a real train station, the noises and rumbling of a real locomotive profoundly familiar.  “And this is . . . fun?” Steve asked, the nearest he would dare say to, <em>Am I gonna regret this?</em></p><p>“This,” Clint said, without a trace of irony, “is the greatest ride in all of Walt Disney World.”</p><p>Big words, Steve thought, but he had not spent much time with Clint, and he <em>had </em>dumped the guy on Natasha—to be fair, she had worked with him for <em>years </em>before Steve had ever been in the picture, so it was hardly Steve’s fault for spending more time with his <em>fiancé</em>—and it was only right, as the team leader, that he spend <em>some </em>time with his teammates.</p><p>“You sure this is safe?” Steve said, <em>after </em>they were seated, strapped in securely, far more securely than they had been on any other attraction at Disney World.</p><p>Clint said emphatically, “I can’t imagine a less dangerous way to spend my time.”</p><p>There was a long whistle from the locomotive.  Then they were off, lurching along rather brusquely, seated as they were at the back of the train. </p><p>“So,” Clint began conversationally, “how’s it feel?”</p><p>“How’s what feel?” Steve asked, one hand curled around the safety bar, before he put it on his own knee, instead.  Heaven only knew what he could do to the poor machine in a moment of surprise.</p><p>“Don’t play stupid,” Clint said, as their mean machine roared around a corner, lunging towards a big hill, already higher than Steve would have liked.  “What’s it like being <em>engaged?</em>”</p><p>Gripping the safety bar again—<em>loosely</em>—Steve said, “That obvious?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Clint laughed, as they lurched up the hill, faster than Steve would have thought possible, “the ring kind of gave it away.  Congratulations.”</p><p>“Still debatin’ if we’re walkin’ away from this experience,” Steve acknowledged, another near-miss of admitting <em>What kind of dumb idea was this?</em>  He hadn't been a big coaster fan as a kid, namely because there hadn’t <em>been </em>big coasters, not <em>like this</em>, as a kid, but then Clint chimed in:</p><p>“You know, for a guy who makes a living jumping out of planes,” Clint cackled, kicking his foot lightly.</p><p>“I don’t make a <em>livin’</em> doing it,” Steve said as their car finally reached the top of the hill and glided over, descending into a speedy turn that drew joyous shrieks from the throats of the many passengers in front of them.  “Who’s even driving this thing?” he asked over the roar of the wheels on the track.  “They got a license?”</p><p>“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Clint bellowed back, as they rounded another turn and began another sharp ascent, this time swooping through a dark tunnel before emerging into daylight once again.  “Here comes the best part—you ready for it?”</p><p>Steve had no idea what the <em>best part</em> was <em>supposed</em> to be—because at the tippy top of the mountain, instead of smooth, unbroken tracks, there was a patch, easily ten feet high, of ripped up train tracks.  “Look at that <em>view</em>,” Clint exulted, speaking normally as their train steamed to a halt, avoiding the curved tracks.</p><p>Steve could not even process the view, blankly stating, “The view?  What’re you, nuts?”  Then, at Clint’s cackle of laughter, he said shortly, “Barton, there’s a—”  But there was a sudden <em>whoosh</em> and then, all at once, he felt whatever tidal force was holding the train exactly at the mountaintop release, and down, <em>down </em>they went, plunging backwards—<em>backwards!</em>—at a velocity that defied description.</p><p>Bellowing wordlessly in alarm, Steve made out Clint’s delighted whoops and irrepressible laughter as they howled through the darkness, too quickly to process what was even happening before coming to a halt, observing the monster in the flesh—in the silhouette, anyway, growling and gesturing menacingly overhead. </p><p>Steve said seriously, “So, what, do we shoot it?”  But then their train switched directions and plunged <em>forward</em>.  If Steve thought the backwards run was brisk, oh, boy, was he in for a treat as their train roared down the hill at a speed <em>no locomotive </em>should ever traverse.</p><p>Screaming no longer in terror but simple <em>we’re-alive </em>endorphins, he bellowed as they rattled around a curve, “This doesn’t seem up to code, Barton!”</p><p>“Yeah, no, shit, Sherlock!” Clint replied, whooping and throwing both arms in the arm.  “Whoo-hoo!!!”</p><p>Their in-ride picture was decent, if Steve said so himself: “That’s a Christmas card,” Clint observed, scanning his Magic Bracelet and beaming.  Clint had both arms high in the air while Steve looked like he was about to start lecturing him on safety, one hand curved around the safety bar while the other was upraised and dangerously close <em>imperiously pointed</em>, brow furrowed and head turned towards Clint, mouth open as if to say, <em>Barton, what in the world</em>, but only managing to address the abyss as they screamed downhill.</p><p>Steve noticed an entire pile of marshmallow plush toys, but before he could remark upon the many Zeuses—and Heras, he mused, oddly endeared by the thought—Clint was hauling him by the sleeve, insisting, “We gotta do it again.”</p><p>He was surprised at himself for not digging his heels in, sure that Bruce and Tony would be demanding their presence any second, but as they blitzed through the line a second time and boarded, Clint made a show of saying, “How many times can we go in a row?”</p><p>“<em>Twice </em>is fine,” Steve said.</p><p>“C’mon, Cap, dream with me,” Clint said, as their locomotive lurched out of the station with a steamy bellow, careening down the track.  “We could set a record here.  Between your intolerance for failure and my heroic constitution, we can’t lose.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Steve deadpanned.</p><p>“You’re welcome.  So, did he take a knee, or did you?”</p><p>“Do you see a ring on my finger?” Steve retorted dryly, as they made the uphill assent, feeling oddly calm, almost conversational, after all.</p><p>“I just figured, guy plans <em>Jeopardy </em>night, you’d think—”</p><p>“You’d think,” agreed Steve, looking out over the park.  “That is a heck of a view.”</p><p>“Wait ‘til the one at the top,” Clint advised.</p><p>“With the broken tracks?”</p><p>“Who knows—maybe they fixed ‘em,” Clint said, as their train lurched temperamentally down the little hill and roared off down the path.</p><p>They had not fixed ‘em.  But the view—<em>wow</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>After four consecutive runs, even Clint weaved as he walked through the gift shop, swiping his Magic Bracelet for their in-ride photo and observing, “Now that’s a Christmas card.” </p><p>Steve had adopted a stoic expression, having insisted that three times was enough, while Clint, playing along, mirrored him.  The two of them stood out like sore thumbs compared to their terrified, overjoyed companions.  “No,” Steve said sternly, as Clint wobbled towards the queue, “we are <em>meeting </em>with—”</p><p>“Hey, look,” Clint said, plucking one of the lady Yetis from the pile and shoving it into Steve’s hands.  “Zeus Two.”</p><p>“Her name’s Hera,” Steve corrected, replacing the Yeti—Yetiss?—on the pile.  “Quit messin’ with the display.”</p><p>“Steve,” Clint said gravely, holding up a hat, absurdly stylized after the same playful cartoonish Yeti.  Sighing, Steve replaced the hat, firmly steered Clint towards the exit, and kept his wandering hands from dragging a Yeti-decorated backpack off the shelf.  “C’mon, that’s just perfect,” Clint insisted.  “You could take it everywhere you go!”</p><p>“Do I <em>look </em>like I need it everywhere I go?” Steve retorted, pushing him along the edge of the crowd.  “C’mon, we—Geez, Louise, it’s been an hour.”  He steered them towards the fork in the road they hadn’t taken, but Clint pulled them over.</p><p>“Hold your horses,” Clint said.  “I still want a Banshee.”</p><p>“We’re meeting with—”</p><p>“Do you wanna drag him halfway across the park?” Clint cut in.  “Or do you wanna be adults about it?”</p><p>Steve sighed.  “Your logic,” he began, but he allowed Clint to course-correct them towards the path they had come, after all, “is flawed.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Clint allowed, “but I still have a good time.”</p>
<hr/><p>One thirty-minute <em>sojourn </em>later—“I’m not gonna carry you;” “You carry Tony all the time;” “<em>Barton</em>”—they had another toy shoulder-Banshee.  Unlike Blue, it had bright yellow skin with red accents, but it flapped its wings and dropped its jaw just as enthusiastically as Tony’s blue-and-purple morph.  “Happy?” Steve grunted.</p><p>“I could go for some churros from the Lounge, since we’re here,” Clint acknowledged, but he laughed when Steve tugged him forcefully back the way they had come, towards Asia and the elusive <em>Dinosaur Land </em>beyond.</p><p>“I’m gonna call him Echo,” Clint announced.</p><p>“Echo?” Steve repeated.</p><p>Clint beamed.  “Exactly.”</p>
<hr/><p>It was nearing five o’clock by the time they reached the elusive <em>Dinosaur Land</em>.</p><p>“The triumphant explorers,” announced Tony, seated on a park bench with Bruce near a hut labeled <em>Trilo-Bites</em>.  “And friend,” he added, eyebrows raised as Clint flapped Echo’s wings.  “I see impulse purchases are still alive and well.”</p><p>Steve said, “This is Dino Land?”  It didn’t seem so bad.  The massive, long-necked dinosaur skeleton in the short-distance was impressive, but nothing to run screaming from.  Images of frightfully realistic dinosaurs roaming freely, juxtaposed with thrill rides to <em>really </em>knock one’s socks off, no longer seemed like an imminent possibility.  It was just a Disney park.  It wasn’t the <em>real</em> Jurassic Park.</p><p>“No, this is just the entrance,” Tony corrected, flowing smoothly to his feet.  “You should try one of these, they’re really good,” he added, chucking the remains of a milkshake into a trash bin.  “But on the way out, because we’ve got places to be and things to see.”  Tucking a hand through Steve’s elbow, he started walking towards the dinosaur, adding, “Now, I want you to remember, everything you see is real and <em>can </em>eat you, so stay close.”</p><p>“Tony,” grumbled Steve.  At least <em>he </em>sounded in good spirits—the milkshake had even taken the rawness out of his voice.</p><p>Tony shushed him, explaining, “They have <em>extraordinarily </em>good hearing.”</p><p>Letting out a sigh, Steve said, “Whatever you say, Tony.”</p><p>Steve had seen <em>Jurassic Park </em>enough times to have a healthy respect for the world’s largest carnivores.  He couldn’t quite put it past Disney, one of the most innovative entertainment companies in the world, to try to recreate the experience.  Still: <em>This is a theme park for children</em>, he reminded himself wearily, as they paused underneath the shadow of the dinosaur spanning nearly one hundred feet from crest to tail, allowing stragglers Bruce and Clint to catch up.</p><p>It sure had been <em>invigorating </em>to see a dinosaur hall for the first time.  Oh, sure, they’d had dinosaurs back at the turn of the century, lots of them—they were as dinosaur-crazy as their parents and grandparents—but the twenty-first century brought to bear ways of putting out such creatures in ways that seemed to make them ready to walk off their podiums.</p><p>No more stiff-legged taxidermies meant to shock-and-awe crowds, their sole purpose a reminder that <em>these things once lived</em>.  Now, there was a photorealism to them, so well-constructed that the polished teeth of the lifeless <em>T. rex </em>seemed to drip with saliva, ready to flex back to life at any moment.  To stand beneath its maw was to experience not terror but a primeval <em>awe</em>.</p><p>Humans and dinosaurs had never coexisted—and so, the only fear humans might have had for them had to be constructed from other experiences.  Without that grounded terror, there remained a rampant curiosity. </p><p>Even Steve confessed a certain desire to <em>know </em>what the world was like, so long ago.  It seemed surreal that Earth, so familiar to him, could have such a different, exotic, mesmerizing face.  Looking up at the beast, its belly cavernous enough to hold ten men, he found himself grateful it was listed as a <em>plant-eater</em>.</p><p>But like an elephant, its feet could stamp out opposition, and he was glad to move beyond its skeletal appearance, and into—<em>DinoLand, U.S.A.</em></p><p>He only got a glimpse of what seemed like the world’s most unusual carnival before Tony was tugging him pointedly down the right fork in the road, towards more greenery, more photo-realistic dinosaurs, these ones with skin.  And that was something special, seeing dinosaurs as they would have been in life—<em>it’s all a guess</em>, Tony had told him, but laying a hand on a strange, duck-billed dinosaur’s back, he could not help but imagine it as real. </p><p>And to further imagine it rising from its restful sleep and shaking off, looking down at him from a standing height of maybe fifteen feet—lying flat on its belly, it looked down on him!—was truly awesome.  “What’s this one?” he asked un-self-consciously.</p><p>“<em>Edmontosaurus</em>,” Tony replied, “sit on it, I’ll get your picture.”</p><p>Ignoring him, Steve kept an eye on it even as, inevitably curious, he reached out and grazed a hand over the <em>Edmontosaurus’</em> shoulder. </p><p>Its skin was strangely smooth, almost rubbery.  Pressing down on it, Steve waited for the beast to lurch upright and bellow at him, but it stayed flat.</p><p><em>It’s a statue</em>, Steve reminded himself.  It was the realest statue he had ever seen, painted pond-greens with spatters of red.  It was strangely beautiful, even though it was clearly not alive.</p><p><em>One time, you were</em>, Steve thought, running a hand over the ridge slowly down its back, leaping a mile when there came a terrible bellow from nearby, rolling and thumping in the middle like stones crackling over each other. </p><p>“Now, see, that’s why you don’t touch the fin,” Tony told him, as Steve’s heart continued to pound in his chest.  Wagging his phone, Tony winced as it let out an even more hideous sound, the source of the terrible foghorn-like bellow.  “Really poetic, aren’t they?”</p><p>“Is <em>that </em>what they—?”</p><p>“Just a theory,” Tony said, shutting his phone up and pocketing it. </p><p>Stepping away from the beast, Steve instructed, “You touch it.”</p><p>Shaking his head, Tony tugged on his sleeve and told him, “We’ve got better things to see.”</p><p>That didn’t sit particularly well with Steve.  “<em>How </em>much better?” he insisted, holding his ground.</p><p>“Oh, wow,” Bruce interrupted, looking at the <em>Edmontosaurus </em>and then back at Tony, asking, “which one is thi—”</p><p>“Really?  When did I become the Dino expert?  Google is <em>free</em>.”</p><p>Chastised, Bruce cowered.</p><p>“<em>Edmontosaurus</em>,” Steve piped in helpfully.  Bruce blinked at him, then pointed at Tony, who said:</p><p>“Sit on the dinosaur.”</p><p>Meekly, Bruce obliged, resting a hip gingerly against its shoulder.  “There,” Tony said triumphantly, holding his phone up well after he had taken the shot just to make Bruce squirm.  “Now I have a scale.”  Lowering his phone, Tony looked at Steve and bargained, “You know, Bruce is tiny, it’s really not that—”</p><p>Aware that Tony wouldn’t let it go, Steve walked over, stood next to the <em>Edmontosaurus’</em> head, and said, “Do a lot of things for love, Tony.”</p><p>“And I love that you do,” Tony replied, still looking through the lens of his camera, which was suspiciously lit.  “I have never seen someone happier to meet a real live dinosaur.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Steve ran a hand over the <em>Edmontosaurus’</em> crown, indicating, “Yeah, this is very real.”</p><p>“Now give it a kiss on the cheek—”</p><p>“<em>Tony</em>.”</p><p>“Worth a shot,” Tony said unapologetically, tucking an arm through his and indicating, “fine, we’ll go see your favorite.”</p><p>“Do I even have a favorite?” Steve asked.  Admittedly, the <em>Edmontosaurus </em>was pretty grand—no <em>T. rex</em>, but stripped of skin, dinosaurs were hard to measure against each other.  Fully fleshed out, there was something oddly charming about them.</p><p>“I mean, <em>I </em>do,” Tony said.  “But they never have it.”</p><p>“You have a favorite?” Steve echoed, surprised.</p><p>“If you survive the journey, I’ll tell you,” Tony said, winking.</p><p>“If <em>I </em>survive the journey.”</p><p>“It was pretty touch-and-go for a minute there with Barton,” Tony acknowledged.  Looking over his shoulder, he added, “Is that your definition of <em>best of both worlds</em>?”</p><p>“Heck yeah it is,” Clint replied.  When Steve looked, he had a chocolate milkshake in hand, beaming as he said, “Should’ve tried it, Cap.  This is pretty strong.”</p><p>“That would be the bourbon,” Tony added dryly.</p><p>Plucking the bacon strip out of his milkshake and crunching down on it, Clint said cheerfully, “You have great taste.”</p><p>“I <em>did </em>invite you, so jury’s out,” Tony drawled.</p><p>“This place,” Steve said simply, “is something else.”</p>
<hr/><p>Unlike Figment’s Imagination Institute in EPCOT, the Dinosaur Institute in Animal Kingdom had an air of real science to it. </p><p>There were floor-length glass display cases with teeth and claws inside them, as well as turtle shells and fossilized imprints of animals that had died over a hundred million years ago.  <em>A hundred million years ago!</em>  Grasping the enormity of that kind of timespan escaped even the most outside-of-the-box thinkers, but Steve still found himself trying to take it all in, lingering over a screen with a long-tailed, mouse-like creature on it.  <em>Kamptobaatar</em>, he thought.  “Is this a dinosaur?” he asked skeptically.</p><p>“Mammal,” Tony replied, tapping the name underneath the title.  “Like us.”</p><p><em>Like us</em>. </p><p>Not like them was the iconic <em>Triceratops </em>head posted at the end of the boxy museum hall, striated with queue lines.  The <em>Triceratops’</em> three-pronged head was daunting even in isolation.  Steve’s mind automatically conjured up a beast that breathed, filling its lungs and exhaling hotly before moving on to feed on the huge green outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. </p><p>There was already one escapee outside—an <em>Iguanodon</em>, Tony called it, standing in a shallow pool of water—but the skeletal head stood in somber intermedium, never to be moved.</p><p><em>Stuck in time</em>, Steve mused, following the queue around the corner into a great, circular hall.  His gaze traced a path around the panorama surrounding the partially domed ceiling, various scenes of dinosaurs being stricken by fire raining from the sky and more fossils in between.  On their level, surrounding the entire room, there was a stack of rock layers, including a thick belt of coal winding jaggedly through ochre and tan colored rocks. </p><p>“Most of the coal we use today came from the Age of the Dinosaurs,” Tony told him, catching his eye, but Steve did not linger long on the rock before, at last, he fixed on the room’s centerpiece—a grand, towering beast.</p><p>At first, he thought it might be a young <em>T. rex</em> skeleton, but something about it was wrong, from the horns on its head to its upright posture, a rhino where he expected an elephant.  It wasn’t until they processed farther into the room that Steve saw the sign along with the exhibit.</p><p><em>Carnotaurus</em>, the display read, next to a frightful image of the fleshed-out animal, skin stained gray and red.</p><p><em>The only species of meat-eating dinosaur with substantial horns, the large Late Cretaceous carnivore also possessed strangely stunted forearms and a bulldog-like face.  </em>Carnotaurus <em>is known from this single fossil, which included the most complete fossil skin impressions ever found for a meat-eating dinosaur</em>.</p><p>“Tony,” he beckoned, “you see this?”</p><p>“Mm?”  Tugging on his sleeve, Tony indicated, “C’mon.  Ride’s this way.”</p><p>Wondering how they could possibly peer back into the soul of an animal that had lived—Late Cretaceous, when was that?  Fifty million years ago?  A hundred million?—how they could behold the <em>shape </em>of an animal that lived so long ago—</p><p>“C’mon,” Tony insisted, and he went along.</p><p>They gathered in a small pre-show room to be welcomed formally to the Dinosaur Institute via video transmission from a Miss—<em>Doctor </em>Marsh.  They had the room to themselves, which was convenient—Steve could immediately tell that aside from the visuals on-screen, they would have been sitting ducks for any gawking stragglers in the open space.  Blending in only worked when there was a crowd, and <em>DINOSAUR</em> didn’t appear to be the hottest ticket in the Animal Kingdom—at least, not at the dinner hour. </p><p>At the mere thought of food, Steve’s stomach gave an errant rumble.  Tony snickered, elbowing him as if to say, <em>Should’ve eaten on the way in</em>.</p><p>Grumbling mutely, Steve watched as Dr. Marsh introduced them to the <em>time rover</em>, a souped-up all-terrain Jeep that would “<em>literally</em> transport <em>you </em>to the <em>Age of the Dinosaurs</em>.”</p><p>“How?” Steve asked, at nearly the same moment Dr. Marsh repeated the same, answering her own question with a schoolteacher’s prim:</p><p>“<em>That’s proprietary</em>.”</p><p>Tony snickered.  Steve tucked an arm around him.  Dr. Marsh pawned them off to a less professional character who was, naturally, in charge of the <em>safety </em>spiel.  “This is about to go the way of the <em>Jungle Cruise</em>, isn’t it?” Steve asked as the haphazard gentleman on-screen illuminated a harebrained scheme to go back in time and <em>retrieve </em>a dinosaur.  “Where would you even put it?”</p><p>“Lagoon looks pretty nice,” Tony said.</p><p>“Your room,” Clint added.  Tony kicked him lightly.  “What?  Steve would let him sleep on the bed, wouldn’t he?”</p><p>“Cute,” Steve deadpanned.</p><p>“I’m adorable,” Clint agreed.</p><p>Bruce, glued to the screen, whimpered when the rabble-rouser managed to override the lock and announce that their scheme to retrieve a dinosaur was <em>a-go</em>.  “<em>Late </em>Cretaceous?” he repeated.  “That’s—”</p><p>“Sounds like a good time,” Tony drawled, setting the mood.  “I’m in.”</p><p>“Only if I drive,” Clint insisted.</p><p>“Do I even <em>wanna </em>know how many defenseless woodland animals you’ve mowed down in your forty years on the road?” Tony retorted.  “I’m driving.”</p><p>“No one is driving,” Steve said firmly, as the lights finally came on and they were funneled down a long, concrete hallway into the belly of the beast.  “It’s not like it’s actually going anywhere.”</p><p>“You sweet summer child,” Tony said, flicking Blue’s jaw briefly.  “This is gonna be fun.  Bruce, you want front or—”</p><p>“Back,” Bruce whimpered.  Then: “Middle.”  Finally, almost wincing as he said it: “Front?  I don’t know, Tony.”</p><p>“I wanna drive,” Clint insisted.  “I’m a great driver.  I’ll only hit three dinosaurs.  Promise.”</p><p>“Barton,” Steve warned.</p><p>“Fine.  Two-and-three-quarters, but I’m not happy about it.”</p><p>“No, I’m driving, I paid for this trip,” Tony checkmated.</p><p>Pulling out his wallet, Clint asked seriously, “We gonna do it this way?”</p><p>Tony flared Blue’s wings.  Clint flared Echo’s.</p><p>Steve grabbed Tony by the backpack, held him firmly alongside him, and insisted, “<em>No one</em> is driving.”</p><p>“I’ll drive,” Bruce chimed in anxiously, the world’s most devout peacekeeper.</p><p>Both Banshees retracted their wings at the same moment.  If Steve wasn’t one step away from formally laying out ground rules, he might have laughed.  Tony smirked, and even Clint had to say, “Fine, but I’m throwing peanuts at you.”</p><p>“Barton, you don’t even have—” Steve began, but, on cue, Clint produced a bag of peanut M&amp;M’s stuffed in his pocket.  “Did you steal those?”</p><p>“Is it stealing if Bruce said, <em>Help yourself?</em>”</p><p>Taking the bag from him and stuffing it firmly into the blue backpack, Steve said shortly, “Set an <em>example</em>.”</p><p>Their boarding time didn’t come too soon.  Steve sank into his seat.  Behind him, Clint said cheerfully, “I’m keeping a roadkill count—five points for herbivores, ten for carnivores.”</p><p>“What about omnivores?” Tony asked, fishing in the blue backpack for the M&amp;M’s, only for Steve to tuck the bag between his own calves.  Making an affronted face, Tony said, “What?  We’re going on a road trip, you need snacks.”</p><p>“Good thing I brought—”</p><p>Steve swiped the second bag of M&amp;M’s from Clint and shoved it into the backpack.  The cast member at the loading dock asked cheerfully, “Can you pull on your seatbelts, please?”</p><p>“I don’t wanna <em>hear </em>it,” Steve warned them as they rounded the first turn, Bruce trembling palpably beside him.  He was sitting in the proverbial driver’s seat, but to Tony and Clint’s amusement and Bruce’s audible dread, there was no actual steering wheel.</p><p>“Ten bucks says he kills a deer,” Clint chimed in.</p><p>“Deer haven’t been invented,” Tony retorted.</p><p>Flicking off his hearing aids, Clint said suddenly, “Don’t worry, Cap, you won’t hear a thing after this.  LOUDEST RIDE IN DISNEY WORLD.”</p><p>Earplugs already in place, Bruce merely trembled and gripped his safety bar for dear life.  Tony said thoughtfully next to Steve, “He’s actually not wrong.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Steve huffed, already more irked with the thought of having Clint behind him and unpredictable for the drive than anything he could see in front of him.  “Bruce,” he added, as Bruce checked his seatbelt for the fourth time, resting a firm hand on his knee.  Waiting until Bruce looked at him, he said firmly, “It’s just a ride.”</p><p>“Oh, no, didn’t you hear the nice lady?” Tony said.  “This is as real as it gets.  I can’t wait to get some sick wounds from—”</p><p>Whatever dinosaur he was hoping would take its pound of flesh was lost as the time rover kicked into high gear, a cool mechanical voice announcing, “Time travel commencing in ten seconds.”</p><p>Bruce clamped onto his hand like a vice.  Putting his other hand on the bar for good measure, Steve blinked in surprise when Tony curled both arms around it tightly, hugging it like a koala and announcing in a mixture of glee and uncontainable excitement, “Get ready.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” Steve said, sure they were hamming it up—maybe not Bruce, but Clint bellowing, <em>Whoo-hoo!</em> as their little rover leaped forward was certainly more excitement than the ride strictly merited.  They were still firmly in the present.  Until he saw some <em>real </em>magic, he wasn’t about to lose his socks.</p><p>As their Jeep seesawed violently to-and-fro, Bruce gave up on holding his hand and flung both arms around Steve's waist, burying his face against Steve’s shoulder and hugging him like a terrified sea otter. </p><p>Tony snickered beside Steve, but if Tony said anything, it was lost to the noisy whirring and wind-up noises as the car prepared to <em>travel through time</em>. </p><p>“Believe it when I see it,” Steve announced, which made Tony laugh and Bruce whimper.</p><p>“Can I take the wheel?” Clint bellowed, but then they were <em>really </em>cooking with oil, and the noise did reach a <em>been on quieter airfields than this </em>volume that made him jealous the entire car had its ears covered—even Tony had strategically wound his arms so he could press both hands over his ears.</p><p>“That’s cute, gang,” he told them, aware that any hearing damage he sustained, short of catastrophic, would be healing instantly by the serum—and equally aware that he could hear mice skittering through walls <em>three floors down </em>when the interference was low.  The sheer cacophony was enough to be overwhelming in itself.  When, all at once, they emerged from the fiery heart of the time machine into—into—</p><p>“Oh my fucking <em>God</em>,” he said, as their car heeled in front of a living, breathing, <em>that’s-a-real-dinosaur!</em>  “How in the world is that a—”</p><p>He barely heard the narrator calmly announcing that it was a <em>Styracosaurus</em>, hollering loud enough for the whole car to hear, “That’s a goddamn dinosaur!”</p><p>Clint cackled.  Bruce stayed huddled against his side, like he could not bear to see the most miraculous sight of their age with his own eyes.  Tony agreed, “Yup,” like he had fully expected it, a living, breathing dinosaur!</p><p>It only got worse as the Jeep lurched off in search of <em>their </em>dinosaur, the darkness and steamy environment accentuated by a robotic voice telling them: “<em>Warning: meteor shower in range</em>.”</p><p>“What does she mean, <em>in range</em>?” Steve demanded, aware that he wasn’t being a good sport and trusting it all to work out favorably, but was he the only one with <em>sense</em>?  Sure, Bruce at least seemed to recognize the gravity of their dilemma, but huddling in terror wasn’t gonna get the job <em>done</em>.  This was <em>insanity!</em></p><p>“<em>Alioramus</em>,” the computer warbled as a predatory dinosaur that resembled the <em>Carnotaurus </em>violently devoured a smaller dinosaur, arching its neck in a spirited attempt to get it down.</p><p>“Which one’s the—?” Steve started, but then their car was moving and he had to focus on planting his feet to keep them still as their car bucked over something huge and Clint whooped behind them.</p><p>“Ten points!” Clint crowed.</p><p>The computer rattled off <em>Hadrosaur </em>and <em>Raptor </em>so quickly that Steve didn’t even <em>see </em>them before the harebrained scientist said, “Time to get serious—”</p><p>“Glad to hear we weren’t serious before!” Steve quipped back, but that was all he got out or heard before they <em>got serious</em>, which was code for jacked up the speed and hit at least four different small dinosaurs on the way, if the size of the bumps they jumped over were anything to go by.</p><p>“I’m tracking a big Dino, could be ours!” their hapless host announced cheerfully, but even before they rolled to a stop, Steve could see that it was something big, something <em>horned</em>, and—</p><p>It was a good thing, he thought, that both Bruce and Tony were holding onto him for their own protection from the jouncing journey through the prehistoric landscape or he might have jumped ship as their car screamed to a halt right underneath the steaming maw of a— “<em>Carnotaurus</em>,” the computer identified.</p><p>Speechless, almost more enraptured than afraid and still somehow sure that, had he not had been firmly seated and buckled in, he would have bolted into the jungle, Steve followed the big guy with his eyes as they lurched away from it.  He couldn’t do so for long—the road was too violent (<em>not exactly </em>paved <em>back in the day</em>)—but there were more dinosaurs around them, roaring while their host roared back:</p><p>“Another big guy coming up!”</p><p>“<em>Sauropod</em>,” the computer interjected.</p><p>“Still not our dinosaur, but at least this one’s a vegetarian!” harebrained McGee chuckled.</p><p>Convinced he would give Harebrained McGee a piece of <em>what-for </em>if they made it back, Steve endured the rampaging voyage with eyes wide open but still taking in little of the scenery, their furious, <em>damn-the-torpedoes </em>Jeep lurching over obstacles without remorse.</p><p>Steve was glad he had foregone putting an arm around Tony’s shoulders, because when Mr. Carnotaurus made a reappearance, Steve put five perfect dents in the safety bar in front of him, only visible once their time rover, against all odds, made it back to the lab.</p><p>“Gee, thanks for all your help!” Harebrained McGee congratulated.</p><p>Releasing his death grip on the safety bar and taking note of the damage, Steve winced.  Tony wheezed a laugh, while Bruce refused to move an inch until Steve almost pried him off.</p><p>“Incredible,” Clint said.  “Amazing.  I got it all on film!”</p><p>“Really?” Steve said.  “Can I see?”</p><p>Clint passed him his phone.  Tempted though Steve was to chuck it out of the ride vehicle, he knew that would inconvenience the cast members.  So, he deleted the video, said, “Hand slipped,” and handed it back.</p><p>Almost immediately, Tony’s phone buzzed.  Pulling it out of his pocket, he snorted and showed Steve the video message.  “Modern technology is amazing,” he said, patting Steve consolingly.</p><p>“<em>Out</em>,” Steve ordered as they pulled up to the gate.</p><p>Shaking like a leaf in a storm, Bruce asked, “Is it over?”</p><p>“Banner, if you ask me <em>one more time</em>,” Steve growled.  Bruce shrank back, hiding behind Clint.</p><p>“Would you like a snack?” Tony interrupted, taking Steve by the hand and tugging him towards the exit.</p><p>“If you offer me an M&amp;M, I’ll,” Steve started.</p><p>Rolling his eyes like Steve had suggested sticks and mud, Tony said, “<em>God </em>no.  I was thinking EPCOT.”</p><p>“I said <em>one</em> park.”</p><p>“What if,” Tony negotiated, steering them <em>away </em>from the dinosaur ride—Steve didn’t even want to know what the in-ride photograph looked like, sure Clint would take care of it—“we did <em>two </em>parks?”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve warned.</p><p>“I will let you pick <em>any </em>ride in EPCOT,” Tony promised, latching onto even ambiguous hope immediately, straightening Steve’s shirt where Bruce had crumpled it.  “As many times as you want.  Within reason,” he added with a smirk.  “I can only do <em>Mission: Space </em>so many times.”  As they put distance between themselves and the accursed <em>DINOSAUR </em>attraction, Tony asked him dryly, “Will you bite my arm off if I ask for a lift?”</p><p>Stewing, Steve said, “Ask me again in five minutes.”  He did slow his pace, aware that he was moving a bit <em>too </em>briskly for Tony to walk alongside—Tony was practically jogging to keep up.</p><p>“EPCOT has food,” Tony reminded.</p><p>Steve’s traitorous stomach growled.  He slowed his pace further, conceding to behave.  “I do not like dinosaurs,” he announced.</p><p>“That reminds me,” Tony said, pulling him over.  When Steve gave Tony his back, Tony hopped up.  “<em>Yutyrannus</em>.  Feathered tyrannosaur.  Pretty neat, huh?”</p><p>“Pretty neat,” Steve grunted.</p><p>Tony assured, “Don’t worry, there aren’t any in EPCOT.”  After a short pause, he asked, “Are we waiting for—?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Good,” Tony said, relaxing against him.  “Poor Bruce.  Think they’ll do <em>Primeval Whirl</em>?”</p><p>“I don’t even want to know what that is,” Steve grumbled.</p><p>“I forgot how cranky you were when you were hungry,” Tony mused, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder but pulling his <em>Test Track </em>baseball cap over his own eyes.  Sunglasses and hoodies worked well in colder climates, at least for the less nosy public.  Tony’s assurance that people at Disney World were too busy trying to mark off their own bucket list items to pay them much mind had proven true.  Still: Steve stuck to the quieter side of the road.  As they finally crossed over the bridge <em>out </em>of DinoLand, he exhaled in relief.</p><p>He kept walking at a good clip, chewing up the space until they reached the more crowded Asia section with its pinnacle attraction.  “So?” Tony prompted, hopping down and gesturing at the mountain.  “Was it fun?”</p><p>Steve looked at the faux Everest and grimaced.  “Ask me again in five minutes,” he said.</p><p>Tony squeezed the back of his neck briefly, before cutting ahead, striding through the heavier traffic.  Steve followed, keeping his head down.</p><p>Before they crossed the final bridge, Tony warned, “Last look.  Any last words?”</p><p>Looking around, taking in the park—the gargantuan <em>Tree of Life</em>, the towering <em>Expedition Everest</em>, and the greenery hiding so much from plain view, including the mythical <em>Pandora</em>, Avatar Land, where the Banshees dwelled—Steve repeated, “It’s something.”</p><p>He carried Tony the last leg of the journey, winding through the long stretch of trees towards the entrance.  When Tony called his attention to a red-and-blue parrot perched on a branch, he paused.  Tony pointed out, almost lightly but with tone pitched not to ruffle feathers: “That’s a living dinosaur.”</p><p>Steve looked at it, head tucked near its wing.  “Terrifying,” he deadpanned.</p><p>“I think it’s sweet,” Tony said.  “Got our colors,” he teased.</p><p>Something loosened in Steve’s chest as he came to the same conclusion, from the white hints on its face down to the red, gold, and blue plumage from crest to tail.  “It’s pretty,” he admitted, turning towards the exit.</p><p>“Nature is amazing,” Tony agreed, squeezing the arm around his neck loosely.</p>
<hr/><p>Sunset in EPCOT was one of the prettiest things Steve had ever seen.</p><p>He had seen the world, but there was something unexpectedly magical about the way the sun peeked over the top of the intricately shaped white sphere that dominated the foreground of EPCOT’s Future World. </p><p><em>Spaceship Earth</em>, as it was known, was nearly two hundred feet tall—even more impressive, it was just as broad.  The supporting arches alone dwarfed the people standing beneath them.  The overall impact of the piece could not be understated.</p><p>Unlike Magic Kingdom’s six-spoked Lands or Animal Kingdom’s five branching continents and mythical worlds, EPCOT’s design incorporated two overlapping rings.  The front half of the park was called Future World, and it spread outward from its centerpiece to high-ranking attractions like <em>Soarin’ </em>and <em>Test Track</em>, while the World Showcase sprawled behind it, its eleven countries framing a rounded lagoon. </p><p>While Future World contained much of the traditional <em>fun</em>, the World Showcase contained much of the flavor of EPCOT: nearly all of the attractions were scattered around Future World, while the World Showcase was chock-full of culinary offerings, ranging from authentic German beer to Japanese sushi.</p><p>But it was an oversimplification to say that Future World lacked hearty fillers, and the World Showcase lacked spectacular draws of its own.  It was the nature of Disney that every inch of it was saturated in things to see, do, and experience.</p><p>There was so much <em>to </em>experience.</p><p>“This isn’t what I expected,” Steve remarked, sitting on a bench, tucked away from the crowds, eating his second serving of a Canadian specialty known as <em>poutine</em>.  Fresh fries covered in hot gravy and cheese curds—a favorite up North, they were yet another reason to make the journey across the border.  If they were that good in <em>Disney World</em>, he could only imagine what they tasted like in home-sweet-Canada.</p><p>“No?”  Sipping a <em>La Fin Du Monde</em>, a draft beer with a mighty nine-percent alcohol content that elevated it from a <em>here, have a sip, Timmy </em>to <em>no, this is Daddy’s beer</em>, Tony leaned against the rail, propped a leg carelessly over both of Steve’s thighs, and asked, “What <em>did </em>you expect?”</p><p>“. . . Pork,” Steve said, fishing out another fry.</p><p>Squinting dubiously at him, Tony didn’t move until passerby approached, casually lowering his leg and shuffling closer.  “Well, they make pulled pork poutine,” he permitted, swiping a fry for himself.  “Actually, not bad,” he allowed, swallowing and adding, “Might get another one.  You want another one?”</p><p>“You know me, Tony,” Steve said, quiet and almost apologetic.</p><p>“Say it more somberly,” Tony deadpanned, returning to his previous pose as the passerby moved on without pause, an older couple.  “This is a nice little corner.  I’m glad I’m brilliant and well-informed.”</p><p>“How’d you know it was here?” Steve asked.  The waterfall wasn’t even visible from the main path; the foot traffic was limited to the occasional straggler.</p><p>Tony shrugged a shoulder.  “Unreformed rug-rat,” he said.  “Last time I was here, I wanted to see the World, so I did.  Do it all.  This was the quietest place around.”</p><p>It was.  “Last time,” Steve prompted, cracking open a bottle of water and taking a swig.</p><p>Tony hummed.  “Two-thousand-and-one.  The company had big plans, and I was . . . well, I was bored, so I hopped on a jet-plane and came down for the weekend.  Stayed off property, didn’t want to deal with . . . anyway, I put on my big boy pants, pretended to be someone else for a week, and got to experience the park.  Got to . . . experience Disney World for the first time.  I’d been to Disney<em>land</em>.  With Mom and Pop and the whole cortege, you know, <em>oh, you’re the world-famous</em>. . . .” </p><p>He paused.  Steve picked up on footsteps, but then they moved away again.  Tony resumed: “Anyway, I wanted to be . . . nobody.  And it worked.  For two days.” </p><p>Tony smiled ruefully.  “Then I got made.  So, I went home.  Gave up on it.  It was neat—I got to ride <em>Spaceship Earth</em>, and <em>Splash Mountain</em>, and <em>Pirates of the Caribbean</em>.  See what all the fuss was about.  And it was. . . .” </p><p>Tony snagged another fry and said softly, almost wistfully, “Nostalgia.  I remembered the <em>Pirates</em>.  I remembered it, even though I . . . well, I was four, give me a break.”  Tony smiled, self-deprecatingly.  “I remembered <em>Indiana Jones</em>.  That one stood out.  Mom’s reaction—she held my hand,” he said, transferring his beer and using his cold hand to grip onto Steve’s.  “Really tightly.  She was petrified.  And she—<em>held</em> onto <em>me</em>.  And I just . . . you ever see your parents and realize they’re people?”</p><p>Steve wracked his brain.  “Well,” he permitted, “never saw my dad in person, so.  No.”  He smiled.  “He was always a good man.  Ma was . . . Ma.  What else was she gonna be?”</p><p>Tony squeezed his hand, then let it go.  “I don’t know why it mattered.  But it was . . . transformative.”  He turned the word over, then nodded once.  “She never broke character.  Except when we were on that ride.  Then she was . . . Mom.”  He huffed, and acknowledged bitterly, “Ask me what Dad’s reaction was.”</p><p>“Dare I?” Steve queried quietly.</p><p>Tony hummed, then said, “No.”  He stood.  Steve finished his water in three long gulps and followed.  “I don’t remember.”  And it was everything that needed to be said.</p>
<hr/><p>They fetched another poutine and ate it while wandering around the Victory—<em>Victoria</em>, Tony corrected, but he wrinkled his nose as he said it, <em>Victoria</em>—Gardens.</p><p>“You know, the Canadians hate this,” Tony said, sounding more amused than upset as they sat right on the curb together, looking across the way at purple and yellow and blue flowers.  “Absolutely can’t stand it.  Tried real hard to get Disney to fu—muck off.  Disney said, <em>We’re gonna</em>.”  He laughed, then, an unexpected moment of real joy, leaning into Steve’s shoulder and explaining, “God, they hate it so much.  It’s like . . . <em>Chuck E. Cheese </em>Canada.  So yes.  <em>Victory </em>Gardens.”  He nuzzled Steve’s shoulder, rubbing his face against it, then said, “God, I need to eat.  I am not a one-beer kind of guy.”</p><p>“Poutine?” Steve offered, happily picking over the second helping.</p><p>Tony hummed but didn’t move.  “I loved EPCOT.  Even then.  Totally different.  Totally different.  None of the . . . no <em>Mission: Space, </em>no <em>Soarin’</em>.  Figment was still . . . God, he was a beautiful train wreck.  Everybody loved him.  The doll, she gave you, that one?  That was Figment.  Him and the . . . the Dreamfinder.” </p><p>He exhaled mightily against Steve’s shirt.  “<em>Seas with Nemo </em>was just <em>The Living Seas</em>.  Not really my speed.  <em>Test Track </em>had just opened.  First version, pretty—tame.  Like you were a . . . test dummy.  I dunno, it was—I liked my Audis, I liked <em>my </em>stuff.  Apparently, it had just closed out something called . . . <em>World of Motion</em>. </p><p>“You know, EPCOT’s changed the most.  Of any park.  Anythin’ here.  It’s the one that’s changed.  People hate it.  People love it.  I . . . .”  He lifted his head.  “I liked what I saw.  But I like this, too.  I like this, too.”  Nodding to himself, he struggled to his feet, groaning, “Oh, God, I’m so hungry.  How are you not starving?”</p><p>Smiling, Steve said, “Y’okay, pal?”  He slung an arm around Tony’s waist for good measure, handily disposing the poutine container in another well-placed trash bin.  Bless the Disney company’s preparedness.  Sometimes, the future was great.  Cleaner.</p><p>“I am <em>dandy</em>,” Tony huffed.  “Put me over your shoulder and take me to Morocco.”</p><p>“How about I just hold onto you?” Steve encouraged, aware of the crowds and the odds of being spotted.</p><p>Tony groaned, said, “God, I knew you were a coward,” but smiled after, making a show of wrapping both arms around him and huffing, “Guess it’s <em>my </em>turn to do the heavy lifting.  H’up.”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve said, prying him off.  “Let’s walk.”</p><p>“Boring.”  Scrunching up his nose, Tony said, “I ever mention how much the Canadians <em>hate </em>the Canada pavilion?  Makes you wonder about the other countries, eh?”  Then he laughed, earnest and easy, the snicker that never failed to get a grin out of Steve.</p><p>“Makes you wonder,” he agreed easily.</p>
<hr/><p>They made a pit stop in the U.K., mostly because Tony said, “Oh, God, the Canadians have killed me,” and refused to keep going without a heartier refreshment.</p><p>The best food in town was at the <em>Rose and Crown</em>, which was positively <em>hopping</em> at dinner hour, but the servers took one look at them, beamed like Christmas had come seven months early, and promptly squeezed them in at the bar.  Steve said, “I just hope we’re not taking up anyone’s seats,” which was the wrong answer, because Tony promptly compromised:</p><p>“Perfect, then we’ll share.”</p><p>Tony was pretty steady in his arms, despite the motor-mouth.  On a scale of one-to-ten, he was probably no more than a four, which seemed to be the median level of intoxication at the bar, with the sixes departing in good spirits.  While not packed to the gills like most bars in New York, it was certainly happy hour. </p><p>Sharing a chair helped them blend in, although it did take a little maneuvering to get Blue off Tony’s shoulder, into the backpack, and finally tucked between Steve’s ankles, so that he could wrap both arms around Tony properly. </p><p>From then on, it was a matter of speaking loudly enough that Tony could hear him while listening to Tony speak at a conversational level, confident Steve could hear him.</p><p>“Anyway, what was I saying?  Oh yeah—<em>can’t stand </em>the spinning teacups.  Can’t even look at them.  That’s the hill I’m dyin’ on,” Tony was saying.</p><p>It was hectic, but hectic in the way <em>home </em>was hectic.  And it wasn’t just home—it was <em>home</em>, the Howling Commandos gathered around a table and laughing as they fell out of line while their stone-cold commander smiled indulgently at them. </p><p>The bartender couldn’t <em>not </em>recognize who she was serving, but she admirably ignored their celebrity status as she served them, moving on to other guests before they could worry about having to offer a cover for their identity.</p><p>“Not bad,” Tony declared, chowing down on a burger.  “Not bad at all.”</p>
<hr/><p>Next up: France.  It was a bit of a hike, nearly halfway around the World Showcase, but they were amply rewarded.</p><p>“Ice cream,” Tony beamed, licking a stripe up a cone of coffee-and-strawberry with a delighted groan.  “Oh, God, I missed you.”</p><p>“Well, now I’m not gonna eat it,” Steve said, taking a bite of his own vanilla cone and smirking when Tony made a disgusted noise.</p><p>“Liar.”</p><p>They kept walking towards America, partially to avoid “wastin’ daylight,” and partially to take advantage of the premium seating of the rest of the World Showcase.  Morocco and Japan both radiated tantalizing smells, but with limited seating, it was America’s sprawling outdoor picnic area that drew their attention.</p><p>“Still don’t know why we come all this way to come back to America,” Steve admitted, putting up his feet on the opposite side of the wired table.</p><p>Tony said, “I’m honestly stunned you don’t live, breathe, and bleed America.  Isn’t it in your contract?”</p><p>Steve sighed.  He had not meant for it to sound quite so melancholy, but Tony’s expression softened.  Steve needed to step in, so he assured, “I love my country.”  Then he paused.  “But . . .”  Looking around, unable to pinpoint what, precisely, bothered him—the revolutionary style facades?  The American barbecue fare, without the family-style backyard to accompany them?  The accursed <em>gift shop?</em>—he finally pointed out, “You know, what you said, about . . . nostalgia?”</p><p>Tony nodded.</p><p>“It’s—this isn’t—this isn’t America.”  He winced to say it, trying to explain: “It’s not . . . there’s just . . . .  <em>Where’s</em> the . . .”  He screwed his mouth shut and clamped his jaw, drawing in a breath through his nose.  “I don’t know,” he said at last, slouching in defeat.  “I don’t know, Tony.”</p><p>Tony said simply, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Steve blinked.  “You’re sorry?”</p><p>“I thought—well, it’s what <em>you </em>feel, but I thought, you know—this’d be more uplifting.  Like. . . .”  Squinting, Tony said, “You’re an enigma, Steve Rogers.”</p><p>Blinking, surprised, Steve said, “Like just what the rest of the guys like.”  Hanging out in the yard after hours.  Biting into crisp, fresh bread.  Fixing up cars in the field before a storm blew in.  Falling asleep to rain on the window.  Spending time with people, especially on the holidays.  The Fourth of July.  He loved the Fourth of July.  His throat hurt, suddenly.</p><p><em>I wanna go home</em>, he didn’t say.  Because home didn’t exist anymore.  All those celebrities people swooned over once were dead.  All those innovations people dreamed of were old news and replaced by newer, grander speculations that could not be understood and taken apart and put back together again without the help of a machine.  The War was over sixty years old.  The babes of the era could scarcely remember the horrors their families had been through.  And now they had a new world.  And it kept changing.</p><p>But this.  This <em>totem</em>.  He didn’t know what about it made him so sad, but it made him sad.  He said at last, “I don’t wanna talk about it, Tony,” and meant it.</p><p>So they got up and moved on.</p>
<hr/><p>Next to America, little Italy had made a home for itself.  Wandering around the quaint little town, Steve felt something in his chest <em>loosen</em>.</p><p><em>This is America</em>, he thought.  It wasn’t just <em>one </em>history, but many—not a single nationality but a dozen, a hundred, a thousand, someday.  The World Showcase wasn’t merely a sampling of the world stage—it was a miniaturized reflection of the space they called home.</p><p>It was comforting to step into an Italian bar and sample authentic Italian wine—“God, that’s good,” Tony appraised, sending the bottle back for later—and know that it was part of his world.</p>
<hr/><p>“This is America,” Steve told Tony, sitting beside him on a rocky seating area in provincial Germany, listening to cast members joke in their native language in the background, laughing quietly.  “Whole thing.  All of it.”</p><p>Tony hummed, not quite understanding but listening, nonetheless, backpack slung over one shoulder.  “Is it good?” he asked.</p><p>The lights were getting real low, but the artificial ones were coming up, casting an ephemeral companionability across the whole park, an <em>everyone is welcome to stay </em>air about it all.  The sun was going down, but the day wasn’t over, just yet.</p><p>“As a proud Irishman,” Steve began, which made him laugh, and laugh.  “I can’t help but think we’re painting with primary colors,” he said, sharing his amusement but quietly serious.</p><p>Tony hummed, snugging up against him.  “A good starting point,” he allotted.</p><p>“A good starting point,” Steve agreed, happy to find a touchstone.  “Exactly.”  Slinging an arm around his back, Steve mused, “There’s a whole world out there.  And it’s not just . . . across the Sea, you know?  It’s right here.  And that’s . . . that’s the part I like.  The world came together.  It healed.”</p><p>Tony looked up at him, briefly, chin still planted on his shoulder.  Steve reckoned, “There was a time, nobody knew if Germany would even be a country, when all was said and done.  And there’s no . . . no <em>Russia</em>, no Egypt or Romania or Saudi Arabia, here, but . . . you couldn’t get proud Americans to fraternize with Germans, back in my day.  And now look at us.  We’re . . . gettin’ somewhere.  We still got our problems.  Got new problems, problems I never even imagined.  But . . . seein’ all this, Tony?  This is . . . uplifting.”  He looked around, concluding, “This is a starting point.  Where we are.  And I . . . I think, knowing that the future is <em>like </em>this?  More and more of this?  That’s what I like to see.”</p><p>Tony kissed his chin.  He said, “You have a beautiful soul.”</p><p>Steve just said, “Nah.  Two workin’ eyes.  And . . . hope.”</p><p>“Giddy optimism,” Tony said, but it wasn’t a critique.  “Need some of that,” he added, leaning into him.  “Let me just soak it up.  I’m too cynical.”</p><p>Steve rested his cheek against the side of his head.  “Nah, Tony.”  Drawing in a slow breath, he explained, “You’re . . . the guy helpin’ to build this.  What’s the point in building a tomorrow nobody wants to go to?  You make the cars and the theatres and the . . . the <em>technologies</em>.”  Smiling in self-deprecating rue, he added, “Can’t even imagine them.  I thought the Monorail was the coolest thing on no wheels.  Still no flyin’ car, though.”</p><p>Tony groaned in mock chagrin.  “It’s been seventy years, and you still can’t let that go?”</p><p>“I don’t need a flying car,” Steve assured, kissing his temple.  “I have you.”  Tongue-in-cheek, he added, “And Iron Man.”</p><p>Tony huffed, burying his face against Steve’s shoulder and muttering, “I knew you just wanted me for my body.”</p><p>“Absolutely never,” Steve assured, rubbing his side.  “Absolutely-never.  It’s all’a you.”</p>
<hr/><p>Even Steve was feeling the miles from the day by the time they reached China. </p><p>Nightfall had arrived, offering a welcome layer of insulation from potential gawkers.  Charitably, he offered, “You want a lift?”</p><p>“I,” Tony said, holding up a hand and wagging a finger, “am a <em>god </em>of endurance.”</p><p>The god of endurance welcomed a lift by Norway.  Steve carried him all the way around the Mexico pavilion to the front of the World Showcase, half-convinced he was snoring into his shoulder, his mutterings indistinguishable from sleep.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” he piped up.  “Pick.  Choose.”</p><p>“Hm?” Steve asked, dawdling along the long walk between the two halves of the park.</p><p>“Choose,” Tony instructed.  “<em>Figment?  Spaceship Earth?  Test Track?  The Seas?</em>”</p><p>Steve hummed.  “I thought we were going home.”</p><p>“No, we have to do <em>one </em>ride,” Tony insisted, hiccupping and making Steve laugh.</p><p>“Tony, I don’t think <em>we </em>can handle one ride,” he said, charitably taking the fall with him.</p><p>“Bull.”  Hiccupping silently, Tony said, “Lemme down.  The elevation is killing me.”</p><p>Obligingly setting him down, Steve cocked his head as Tony began striding briskly towards the East.  “Round two?” he mused.</p><p>“Ugh, no,” Tony said, not bothering to disguise his feelings towards the darling Figment, the purple imaginative dragon, steering them towards <em>The Land</em> pavilion instead.  “C’mon.  You’re so slow.”</p><p>Catching up in three long strides, Steve said, “<em>Soarin’?</em>”  He didn’t have the same Disney device on his phone that allowed him to book FastPasses or dining reservations like Tony did, but he knew from experience that its wait time never fell below thirty minutes.</p><p>It was nearly an hour, but Tony didn’t drag him towards the flight ride.  No, Tony tugged him towards a different attraction, tucked away in a corner, around a large, well-attended food court, hopping at the dinner hour.  “What’s this?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Missed FastPass,” Tony said, winding through the short queue, one hand clamped on Steve’s wrist impatiently.  “C’mon.  You’re so <em>slow</em>.”</p><p>Impressed at the utter lack of a wait time, Steve said, “What <em>is </em>it?”</p><p>“A boat ride,” Tony clarified generously, shooing him into the next shallow-floored green vessel.</p><p>Steve liked boat rides.  So far, they’d been the most reliably entertaining—nothing too frightening and plenty of interesting stuff to look at.  “Tony?” he still insisted.</p><p>Tony curled up beside him as soon as they rolled out of the gate, instructing, “No, this is me time.”  He buried his face against Steve’s shoulder and offered no more, relaxing.</p><p>Slinging an arm warily around his back, Steve settled in as a male narrator calmly began, “<em>Welcome to a voyage of discovery and awareness of the richness, the diversity, and the often-surprising nature of </em>Living with the Land.  <em>Our journey begins as dramatic and sudden changes are sweeping over the land. . . .</em>”</p><p>Steve himself was blinking heavily by the time they escaped the dense, rainy forest and entered a true rainforest, replete with animals.  Trusting the unseen narrator—who seemed to have a strong grip on reality, unlike certain <em>DINOSAUR </em>commandos and <em>Jungle Cruise </em>skippers—Steve found himself free to admire the large monkeys hanging from tree branches, ignoring the crocodiles lurking hopefully on the opposite side of their slow-moving vessel.</p><p>It was like a live-action educational talk, no fuss, no muss.  Steve relaxed as they passed through a desert and encountered a small herd of buffalo and prairie dogs.  He came within an inch of shushing a barking dog as it yapped away on the front porch of a fancy farmhouse, only for a rooster to crow nearby, trying desperately to win on the <em>rise-and-shine </em>front.  Tony snored on, unperturbed.</p><p>The ride proceeded in a thankfully <em>less </em>noisy manner for the duration.  Soothing and informative as the narrator’s monologue was, Steve could have enjoyed the scenery in perfect silence—if he could admit that he may not have enjoyed it any more consciously than Tony.  It was probably for the best, he reflected, taking care to admire the pumpkins as the narrator drew his attention to them, that he wasn’t left to his own devices, or he may have wasted the opportunity altogether.  It wasn’t everyday he got to see someone’s garden, and clearly the narrator was proud of his.</p><p><em>How long you been growin’ this?</em> Steve wanted to ask, boggling when they passed tanks full of <em>fish</em>, what in the <em>world</em>.  It was one thing to hear some fella in Iowa had learned to keep the trout well-stocked in a pond, and another to see literally dozens of catfish destined for the dinner plate coexisting in one tank.  <em>The future, </em>he mused, perking up as they entered another greenhouse, his attention duly piqued.</p><p>The greenhouses would have been <em>very </em>dark without spotlights, but Steve's own superior vision meant that even minimal lighting would have been enough to admire the lettuce growing in spiraling tubes and tomatoes on curvy trees.  One of the tomato trees was so fecund it had produced 35,000 tomatoes in less than two years.  35,000 tomatoes!  In <em>less than two years!</em></p><p>“Hey, Tony,” he encouraged, the boat moving slowly enough he had ample time to persuade Tony that consciousness was worth seeing the second—maybe third; the “Extremely Hot Pepper” was intriguing, but the literal “Miracle Fruit” had been something, too—miracle fruit.  “Tony, look, it’s a tomato tree.”</p><p>Tony made a duly <em>unimpressed </em>noise and seemed to lack his enthusiasm for the soil-less plants, although even he perked up at the <em>Nine Pound Lemons</em>.  “I’m sorry,” Tony began, leaning over Steve and squinting skeptically.  “Does that say, <em>nine pound</em>—”</p><p>“<em>Nine Pound Lemons</em>,” Steve confirmed. </p><p>“One question,” Tony said.  “<em>Why</em>?”</p><p>To that, Steve had no answer.</p>
<hr/><p>“I’m still stuck on the lemon,” Tony admitted.</p><p>“Cocktails?” Steve tried.</p><p>Shaking his head, Tony said, “Do <em>you </em>want a watermelon slice in your cocktail?”  He turned around, saluted at the EPCOT ball, and said, “So long, thanks for all the fish.”</p><p>Steve paused, looking back and realizing that—yeah, it was the last time he had see it.  He lingered.  Tony asked, “Any last—?”</p><p>“No,” Steve assured.  He had done it all.  Except. . . .  “What’s that?”</p><p>“Mm?”  Swaying, more tired than drunk, Tony turned and saw what he jerked his chin at.  “Oh, hey,” he said, carving a path.  “I’ll show you.”</p><p>“You don’t have to—”</p><p>“Be there or be square,” Tony called over his shoulder.</p>
<hr/><p>It was called <em>Mission: Space</em>.</p><p>“At ease, soldier,” Tony warned him, as he halted in front of a six-foot-tall sign, brightly lit sign with no-nonsense alerts of ATTENTION! and WARNING! printed on it.  “Come with me.”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve said warily, reading the bold print.</p><p>“<em>Come on</em>,” Tony insisted, dragging him towards the planetary system.</p><p>Despite his trepidation, Steve had to admit it was incredibly pleasing to the eye.  It reminded him of a museum exhibition: on the western side of the pavilion, there was a massive rotating Earth in all her splendid blues and whites, accompanied by a smaller, stationary, rusty-orange Mars on the opposite side. </p><p>Framing both planets and dominating the pavilion’s massive, silver, half-formed rings was a red planet more than twice their size, which could only be one of the gas giants.  A gap in its side admitted a few intrepid souls.</p><p>“Onward,” Tony instructed.</p><p>“Saturn?” he guessed.</p><p>“<em>Onward</em>.”</p><p>As they approached the rings, Steve watched the rocket pinned to Earth’s midriff light up, its tailing blue light streaking slowly into enigmatic orange as it lit up.  It was quite the show on its own, all the effects even more dazzling at night, the bright lights and shocking colors mesmerizing.  But Tony was not content to stand and watch.</p><p>Steve followed him into the belly of the beast, startling when he found, charmingly unpresumptuous in its placement, the <em>Moon</em>, seated within firing distance of the Earth.  It was tucked in the curve of one of the rings, almost perfectly concealed from the street.</p><p>It glowed.  He reached out, but Tony, once again, intercepted.  This time, he snagged Steve’s sleeve and guided him towards the entrance.</p><p>“We come in peace,” Tony greeted.  “Just came to rob you blind, actually.  That all right?”</p><p>The two cast members blinked.  “You’re—” began the cast man on the left.</p><p>Nodding, Tony said, “Yes.”  Then: “Talk to him.”</p><p>Blinking at finding himself in the spotlight, Steve said, “Nice to meet you folks.”</p><p>Starstruck, the cast members—dressed up as <em>astronauts</em>; or, well, a Disneyfied imitation of astronauts—gulped in unison.  “Cap.  Sir,” began the woman on the right.  “It’s an honor.”</p><p>“Truly,” agreed her partner.  “Absolutely.  Is there—anything we can do for you?”</p><p>“No, no, I think we’ve got this,” Steve assured, but he offered a hand.  “Stay sharp.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” they agreed in unison, taking turns shaking his hand.</p><p>Having thus broken the ice, they found themselves in a facility that reminded Steve, once again in a <em>Disneyfied </em>way, of a NASA testing grounds.  Or maybe the lab.  Or some amalgamation of the two things.  He approached a strange-looking vehicle with a life-size doll—<em>dummy</em>—inside it, clad in an orange jumpsuit, and shuddered.  “What is this?”</p><p>“This,” Tony said, “is how we get to the Moon.”</p><p>Steve stared, and realized there were multiple seats in the vessel.  “God,” he said, unembellished, inarticulate, vaguely horrified.  He had thought piloting the Valkyrie was a nightmare.  This . . . this was worse.  Ten times worse.  A thousand times worse.  Instantly, hackles up, he said, “No.”</p><p>“Take it easy.  We’re just flying by,” Tony said.</p><p>He trusted Tony.  So, they ventured deeper into the belly of the beast.</p><p>There were more cast members along the way.  Tony prefaced each of them with the same spiel in different iterations: “Flying by.  Don’t mind us.”  And: “Not here to stay.  Just here to watch.”</p><p>Steve gawked in unambiguous wonder as they rounded a corner and entered a massive, four-story waiting area with a cross-section of a strange vessel segmented like a spoked wheel.  Replete with mock-up rooms, each tilted at vertiginous angles, it didn’t look like anything he had ever seen before—and it appeared like it was <em>supposed </em>to stand upright, like a Ferris wheel.</p><p>“What is this?” he asked, gripping the nearest cold metal railing for support.  “Some kind of—”</p><p>“Spaceship,” Tony filled in.  Even his voice was quiet.  “Welcome to the future.”</p><p>“Why is it. . . .”  Steve trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.  <em>Like this</em>.  There was something unsettling about it.  Something disturbing.</p><p>“Well,” Tony said.  “Earth is big.  So, it creates its own gravity.  But space is . . .”  Shaking his head, he finished, “Empty.  Without planets and stars and other objects, it’s pretty much flat up there.  And flat is bad for you and me.”</p><p>“Why?” Steve asked.  He could not blink, staring at the machine.  It towered over them.  It loomed over them.</p><p>“Flat is like . . . being untethered,” Tony said, making a frustrated noise.  “Earth has gravity.  Gravity keeps us all tied down.  Without something to tie down to, you float—weightless.  It’s a . . . very weird feeling.”  Taking Steve’s wrist in hand, he carried on abruptly.  He never finished the thought.</p><p>Something wasn’t quite right, but Steve couldn’t put his finger on it.  Tony didn’t preface their arrival with <em>We’re just passing through </em>to the next cast member, so Steve did it for him: “Just passing through.”</p><p>“Of course,” she agreed.  “There’s an exit after the pre-show, or you can check out the pods, if you’d like, and then exit.”</p><p>“Thank you.”  Steve accepted the ride cards, anyway, before moving towards the spot she directed him to.</p><p>They watched the pre-show, where a gentleman told them all about space travel.  He seemed brisk and no-nonsense, exactly like the ride.  The first presenter turned the presentation over to an equally serious female partner, who explained the mechanics of the ride.  As Steve watched, the same pod from the main hall appeared on-screen. </p><p>Then, just when Steve thought it could not get any more disconcerting, its interior narrowed until there was nearly no room between the riders and the control panel.  Then the door closed, and the pod began to spin.  He had no idea what it all meant, because the ringing in his ears was too loud.</p><p>Tony asked, “You wanna see ‘em?”</p><p>Steve thought, <em>I don’t know</em>.  The spaceship had been weird.  Disconcerting.</p><p>“Sure,” he said.</p><p>There was a small team embarking on the orange side, but no one on the green side.  The doors opened automatically.  The Orange Team filed fearlessly into their cart, already making hushed noises of excitement, breathing fast, muttering to each other.  They were going to space—if only in their dreams.</p><p>Steve took one look at the empty gray cabin, so narrow he had to turn sideways to even consider getting into it, and saw black water flooding it.</p><p>He lurched backwards, nearly crashed into the Orange Team’s vehicle.  The thin ringing noise in his ears became a roar.  He couldn’t breathe, cold to the bone.  The room was dark, the compartment was filling with black water, and they were all going down with the ship.</p><p>He turned slowly, reflexes offline, needing to warn the Orange Team of the danger, but they were still chattering happily, unaware, almost animal in their intonation.</p><p>He saw, in the corner of his eye, a glowing green EXIT sign.</p><p><em>The future</em>, he thought, heart pulsing as he shoved the door open, threw himself out of the area.  He staggered away, paralyzed, wondering if he had touched the water and that was why he was numb.  Steve put distance between himself and the dreaded, drowning machine.</p><p>He found fresh air, but it was dark outside, and he was drowning inside, and there was no escaping any of it.</p><p>Sinking to his knees, back up against the concrete wall, he buried his head in both hands and gasped, helpless, defenseless, stripped from his shield and his walls.</p><p><em>That’s how you die twice</em>, he thought, aware that he was breathing too loudly, distractingly loudly.  One of the astronaut people appeared, shadowed but speaking to him.</p><p>“Hey.  Cap?  You there?”  They crouched but kept their distance, not in arm’s reach.  He couldn’t see them beyond their silhouette.  “Cap?”</p><p><em>Help me</em>, he thought, the words congealed like concrete in his throat.  <em>Help me</em>.  The black water was coming.  The black water was coming.</p><p>But then Tony was there.  Steve knew it was Tony because his speech was brisk, clipped, agitated.  “Stay back,” he warned.  “Don’t get close.”</p><p>“Absolutely,” said the astronaut, already straightening and stepping further away.  “What do you need?”</p><p>Tony drew in an agitated breath.  “I don’t know,” he said, a punched-out admission.  Steve thought, <em>Get up</em>, whispered it, shouted it, at his own uncooperative limbs.  <em>Get up!</em> </p><p>“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony warned, as Steve’s world lurched, tilted, disjointed.  Something wasn’t right.  His radio frequency wasn’t synced up properly; everything crackled around the edges.  “Is there a—” Tony began, speech sloping into indiscernible syllables, louder than the people in the cart and oh God, oh God, he had let them drown.</p><p>They had drowned.</p><p>“Tony,” Steve tried, mangling the word.  “Tony.”</p><p>Tony looked at him and asked, “What?”</p><p><em>Get them out</em>.  “Help,” he rasped.  He meant <em>them</em> but Tony heard <em>me</em>, his expression heavy, his eyes dark.</p><p>There were three astronauts.  Steve thought, <em>Where am I, really?</em> </p><p>Then, almost before Steve knew what to do with it, they were all standing in a brightly lit room.  A medical room.  Steve jolted in horror.  <em>Asylum</em>.</p><p>No, no, no.  He wasn’t crazy.</p><p>Tony pushed him down onto a bed.  He sat.  He stared at his own shaking hands, white, trembling, bone-cold.  Tony shoved a blanket into them.  Steve curled his fingers around it.  He drew in a shuddering breath.  He let it out in a wretched noise.  Someone thought he might vomit and put a bin near his feet.</p><p>The lights came on slowly in his home.  Room-by-room, he became aware of his exact surroundings, his precise circumstances.  He drew in a breath.  He let it go.  He flicked his gaze around the room, taking it all in. </p><p>Then Steve looked over and saw Tony, jaw gritted but expression alert as Tony looked at him.  Tony waved a hand in front of his face; Steve caught it, gently.  Tony tensed, then forced himself to relax.</p><p>“So,” Tony said with forced humor, “that went really, really, really well.”</p><p>Steve didn’t laugh.  He couldn’t, quite yet.  He let go of Tony’s hand, stared down at the blanket over his legs.  He didn’t—he—he swallowed.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I—”</p><p>“My bad,” Tony assured.  Steve looked at him, stunned.  “What?  I didn’t read the signs.”  His smile twisted into a sour smirk.  “Not these ones,” he added, tapping his metal heart.  It didn’t clink.  It made no sound except for the tiniest <em>hum</em>.  It was the white noise of Steve’s world, a sound he almost never heard but kept nearby so much.</p><p>“These ones,” he added, grimacing as he indicated his own temple.  “You know, last time, I actually went on it.  Never again.”  Cradling Steve’s hand in both his own, gripping tightly—moral support, for himself as much as Steve—he said, “Shouldn’t have ever gone on it.  Shouldn’t have shown it to you.  I don’t know why I did.  I guess . . . well, it’s . . .”  Letting go so he could rub his brow, he huffed, “I don’t know.  Why is <em>Disney </em>hard?”</p><p>Steve looked at him, silent, processing, before saying in a low tone, “Come here.”  Tony clambered onto the cot next to him.  Steve wrapped an arm around his back.  “I got you.”</p><p>Tony gave a full-body shudder.  “I am a <em>fucking </em>idiot.”</p><p>“Don’t,” Steve said softly, nosing his hair.  “Don’t say that about my guy.  He’s the best person I know.”  Rubbing his side, firm but tender strokes, he said, “And he gives me everything and more.  This?  Is nothing.  This is me.  And you.  And we get through this, too.”</p><p>Shivering, Tony said, “Shoulda taken you then.  Found you, unstuck you, brought you to the most magical place on Earth.  That’d reacquaint you.”</p><p>Steve couldn’t imagine it.  Watching <em>television </em>for the first time had nearly been too much.  “No,” he assured.  “This was perfect.  This <em>is </em>perfect.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Tony uttered.  Tony burrowed closer.  Steve shifted the blanket around his legs instead.  “You <em>trust </em>me—”</p><p>“I do,” Steve promised.</p><p>Tony shivered.  “I’m a mess.  I’m not somebody you want to—”</p><p>Steve grasped his hand, the one with the ring, and brought it to his lips.  “Keep talkin’ about my guy like that,” he said, “it makes me think you’ve never met you.”  Wishing he could hold him properly, Steve lowered his hand and rubbed his side again.  “Tough, sweet guy like you.  You’re the world to me.”  And that was the simple, burning-eyes truth of it all.  “So, the real question is—what do <em>you </em>need?”</p><p>“<em>Me</em>?” Tony echoed incredulously.  “I—”</p><p>“You are not fine,” Steve assured.</p><p>Tony sniffed.  “I hate hospitals.  Even First Aid Stations.”</p><p>“Okay,” Steve agreed easily.  He felt—good.  Like himself, with Tony in his arms.  “Done.”</p><p>“Done?” Tony repeated.  “How?”</p><p>Shrugging, Steve shuffled off the cot—Tony made a strangled, <em>Don’t do that, </em>abortive noise—before indicating, “C’mon.  Got places to be, don’t we?”</p><p>“Steve,” Tony hedged, more warning than hesitation, following him.  He folded the blanket and left it on the cot.  “Don’t—”</p><p>“I won’t,” Steve promised.  He wouldn’t.  He never did, if he could avoid it—wasn’t like Tony, didn’t take cold showers to try to <em>conquer his demons; </em>he just avoided them.  Tony was the brave one, always trying to stamp out his fears.  Steve stuffed them in a memory box he tried to never open.  “I won’t.”</p><p>The cast members were nice—nicer-than-nice, escorting them backstage to avoid the crowds, procuring a welcome golf cart to take them to the front of the park.  They even offered FastPasses, which Steve declined, and finally settled on apologies for the disruption to their vacation and the hope that they’d enjoy the rest and come back soon.</p><p><em>Not this time</em>, Steve thought, both bittersweet and grateful, looking back at the EPCOT centerpiece, illuminated in purple and gold, one last time.</p><p>And he found nothing but joy in his heart for it, despite—and because of—everything.</p>
<hr/><p>Standing outside the gates, Tony uttered, “You know, there is still <em>one </em>more park.”</p><p>Wide awake and determined to give him something he wanted, Steve just said, “Yeah?”</p>
<hr/><p>Steve . . . he had <em>expectations </em>for Hollywood Studios. </p><p>After all, he had been to Magic Kingdom, the most <em>theme park </em>of the three Disney parks they’d been to; EPCOT, with its futuristic landscape and sky-high possibilities; and the Animal Kingdom, a mysterious land swathed in dense foliage that concealed dinosaurs and dragons and even forest-giraffes.  He knew not what to expect from Disney’s vision of the shining city on a hill, but he knew it would be grand.</p><p>He did not expect it to feel like home.</p><p>Not the way New York felt like home, no.  It was home the way he had known it his entire life—people walking across broad, paved roads like they owned them, at the kind of dawdle reserved for the end-of-the-day, lights-out, stars-out.  It was an ambling mood that had gone extinct sometime after the introduction of the traffic light, just two years after he had been born.  The sparkling downtown street was framed by palm trees and a big billboard sign streaked with <em>Hollywood</em>, to remind them that they weren’t in Kansas anymore.</p><p>The crowds were light, too, which was real nice—<em>real </em>nice.  Steve had not realized how shallowly he had been breathing ‘til he sucked in a deep breath and let it go, feeling something loosen in his chest.  Hollywood wasn’t there to steal his wallet and make him run for it.</p><p>Tony chose to hand his wallet over immediately anyway, stepping up to a little ice cream joint just inside the gates and procuring a pair of ice cream sandwiches for them.  They sat on a curb together and people watched, leaning into each other like two sweethearts with a secret to hold between them.  Nobody paid them any mind—it was too dark, and the mood was too quiet, too distracted to care.</p><p>Even the music—gosh, it was so like home it made Steve’s heart ache.  Whereas the Magic Kingdom conjured up warm feelings of times past, this place wasn’t representative of a bygone era, it <em>was</em>—it was <em>alive</em>.  The lights were still on, right here in Hollywood Studios.  It was like a living time capsule.  And he—he <em>loved </em>it.  He loved that there <em>was </em>no show, no pomp and circumstance, nothing immediately eye-catching and demanding, <em>come see me</em>, no urgency to it.  It was an explore-at-his-leisure space.</p><p>Oh, sure, there were signs of amusement, like the tourists taking pictures, the carts full of light-up trinkets.  They were still, emphatically, in <em>Disney World</em>.  But he could still lose himself in the overall image it presented.  Even the old-timey gas station was picture-perfect, and the shops along the avenue were oddly photo-realistic at night, like they really had been built by people living at a time when <em>traffic lights </em>were considered novel.</p><p>With Tony a warm, comfortable weight against his side, Steve found himself yawning, warm and content.  He blinked several times when Tony asked, apparently for the second time, “You wanna take a walk, big guy?”</p><p>“Mm,” he said, considering it.  Then, almost to his own surprise: “No.”  The almost scandalous answer made him grin against Tony’s shoulder.  “No, I do not.”  Curving his arm around Tony’s back, Steve held him in place, glad they were tucked away, letting out a contented sigh.</p><p>“Mm,” Tony agreed, tilting his head against Steve’s.  “Nobody I’d rather spend the night with than you, you know that?”</p><p>Heart warm, Steve thought, <em>S’my line</em>.  It seemed too much effort to unbury himself from the warm place he had made for himself, huddled against Tony, breathing him in, holding him dear.  He thought, <em>You had something in mind? </em>but didn’t ask, because he really, really didn’t wanna move.</p><p>“You know,” Steve finally forced himself to say, dangerously close to falling asleep in the middle of the road against Tony’s shoulder, voice tinged with a yawn, “this is home.”</p><p>“Noticed,” Tony said, voice all but twinkling with amusement.  “Disney was born at the turn of the century.  Kind of obsessed with the past.”  He pressed a kiss against Steve’s temple, brief and chilled, and said, “Bears fruit.  It’s good to be nostalgic.  I wouldn’t know, but I’ve heard good things about it.”</p><p>Humming, a tired almost-laugh, Steve said, “You’ve kept every suit you’ve ever made, Tony.  That ain’t nostalgia, I don’t know what is.”</p><p>“I just really hate lugging them out to the curb,” Tony drawled.</p><p>Finding his warm, comfy space against Tony’s shoulder again, Steve breezed, “You’d do anything for those suits.  Within reason.”</p><p>“No, I absolutely <em>would </em>commit a capital crime for my suits,” Tony murmured in a tempting undertone, that also happened to be so quiet nobody else could have heard him.  Nobody, but Steve.  God, he loved his super-hearing.  It was a gift to hear Tony’s quietest drawl as he murmured, “Not that we <em>talk </em>about that in a Disney park, dear.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Steve said, unrepentant.</p><p>Tony sighed in a fond way and said, “Don’t be.  It’s what I love about us.”  He nudged Steve.  Steve squeezed his waist.  “I’m not carrying you.”</p><p>“Then leave me,” Steve murmured.  “I’m happy.”</p><p>Huffing, Tony said, “Shoulda known.”  With a firmer nudge, he added, “C’mon.  I do wanna show you something.”</p><p>Steve sighed, but he finally blinked back at his surroundings.  “S’it the underside of the covers?  I’m all for that.”</p><p>“Yeah, your theme park filter is gone,” Tony said, again fondly, squeezing his arm before taking his hand.  It seemed cold without him up against Steve’s side, but he encouraged, “C’mon.  It’s not far.”</p><p>It wasn’t.</p><p>Standing proudly at the end of Hollywood Boulevard, looking timeless and somehow very temporal, like it had been built in a moment and could vanish in one, too, stood the—“Chinese Theatre,” Tony said.  He offered no more, letting it speak for itself.  Steve had to admit: it was one of the prettiest pieces of architecture he had ever seen.</p><p>Quietly, tiredly, he said, “It’s beautiful.”</p><p>“Radiant,” Tony agreed, snapping a picture.  “We did it.”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>Slinging an arm around his waist, Tony said, “Four parks.  One day.  Guess that means we conquered Disney World.”</p><p>Blinking slowly, Steve looked at the Chinese Theatre, then back at Tony, who grinned lazily, not the full, thousand-watt smile he used for the cameras or even the sincere, almost goofy, squinty-eyed grin that lit up his face when he was truly happy—just a private moment of achievement, of joy, of profound pride.</p><p>“You happy, Tony?” he asked him.</p><p>“Me?”  Looking at him like he was a little crazy, still smiling lazily, Tony said, “I got the best guy in the whole world to marry me.  I am <em>impeccable</em>.”  Kissing Steve full on the mouth, heedless of their placement in a crowd, the potential for gawkers, he retreated after an all-too-brief instant to murmur, “There’s so much more.”</p><p>Steve nodded, tilting his head down, resting his forehead against Tony’s, sheltered in their dark little corner, glad for the darkness, for the faux-privacy of the park, like it really was there for just the two of them.  “Yeah.  And there always will be.”</p><p>Letting out an almost unhappy noise, Tony said, “Is it bad I wanna do it all again, over, better?”</p><p>“I just wanna get cozy with my best guy,” Steve said, rocking just the faintest bit, swaying less to a rhythm than a trance.  “So.  How’s that for compromise?”</p><p>“Hard bargain,” Tony agreed, arms still firm around his waist.  “Don’t know what you’re missing.  <em>Peter Pan </em>and <em>Tower of Terror </em>and . . . .”  He shut his own eyes, either thinking or basking, it was hard to say, until he murmured, “<em>Great Movie Ride</em> and <em>Toy Story Land</em>.  Honestly.  I’m not making that up.”</p><p>“How could you?”  Withdrawing only far enough to pull him along, gently but adamantly away, Steve said, “There’s always next time.”</p><p>“What if there <em>isn’t</em>?” Tony pressed.  “What if we . . . we never come back, or something?  Don’t we <em>have </em>to do it—”</p><p>“Tony.”  Halting him, holding him, so in love with him it physically ached, Steve said, “We did it <em>all</em>.”</p><p>Tony looked up at him, soulful dark eyes full of wonders untold, and finally nodded once, like he could accept that. </p><p>“I can accept that,” Tony husked, confirmation that made Steve grin.  Steve pulled him along, gentle with his sweetheart.  “Next time.  A week.  Two weeks.  Sleep for a week in the middle.  Good plan,” he said, weaving dramatically, making Steve hug him to his side to keep him from straying off-course—deliberately, Steve knew.</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Steve agreed, easygoing as the day he was born.  “’m all right with that.”  <em>How about a year between those weeks?</em> he thought wryly, smirking to himself even as Tony went on, rambling absentmindedly:</p><p>“<em>So </em>much to do.  Didn’t even scratch the surface.  And . . . there’s <em>more</em>.  I haven’t shown you the <em>world</em>.  I haven’t even shown you the <em>Disney World</em>.”</p><p>“Shown me all the world I need,” Steve promised him.</p><p>Indicating the light-up toys, Tony said, “Those?  Have I shown you those?”</p><p>Laughing, Steve said, “I don’t think I want—or need—to see ‘em.  It’d give me a headache.”</p><p>“You joyless heathen,” Tony said, letting Steve propel him past the cart, lingering like he <em>would </em>buy one to spite him.  “Battery life is null,” he agreed.  “Even I am not a total hedonist.”</p><p>“No.  You?  Never,” Steve agreed, stifling a yawn.  “They put coffee in that sandwich?”</p><p>“God, I wish,” Tony said.  “I’m dying.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Steve mumbled, half-sincerely.  “Makes me think—”</p><p>“I am performing sub optimally,” Tony corrected, nudging him.  “Happy?”</p><p>“Very,” Steve agreed.  “I’ll buy you coffee tomorrow.”</p><p>“Angel,” Tony said, with enough sincerity to make him blush.  At least Tony couldn’t see it, in the darkness.  Probably.</p><p>There were no last words for Hollywood Studios—Steve didn’t even remember the transition from park to taxi clearly, yawning and putting one foot in front of the other.  Their driver was thankfully an older gentleman who seemed content to engage in polite conversation with Tony while Steve tried not to doze off against the window, watching the streaking lights go by.</p><p>“God, I’m going to <em>keel over</em>,” Tony said, still sounding far too cheerful and alert, as Steve nodded idly in agreement, beyond words, marching alongside him across the Polynesian resort grounds.  “This way,” Tony steered, as he started veering down the wrong path.  “Only done this, what, half a dozen times?”</p><p>Their room was such a godsend Steve was tempted to curl up in bed, clothes and all, despite the indecency of it.  Two hours would suffice; then he would be back in action.</p><p>It had been a day-and-a-<em>half</em>.  Steve just needed to recharge his batteries.  The serum was limitless, but where the <em>body </em>was willing, the mind was not.  There came a saturation point.</p><p>As soon as the door shut, Tony offered cheerfully, “So, you wanna watch <em>Lion King </em>or <em>Peter Pan?</em>”  Steve hit the wall.</p><p>Groaning, still fully dressed in park clothes, Steve flattened himself on top of their bed.  He stuffed a pillow over his head for good measure, aware that he might get snappish if he didn’t get darkness and silence immediately.  Two hours.  That was all he needed.</p><p>He heard Tony rummaging around, muttering to himself.  He even noticed Tony tug off Steve’s shoes for him, which would have elicited a tired, <em>I’ll get ‘em </em>if he had been five percent more conscious than he was, but then it was properly dark in the room, and Tony was snoring beside him.</p><p>Aching with something sad, Steve took stock of their room.  Blooms of balloons occupied every corner.  Tony had Zeus the Yeti plush hugged to his chest.  Figment the purple dragon and Blue the Banshee were both on the dresser.  The blue backpack was present, as were their travel bags.  And the old girl sat next to the Iron Man suit, just in case.</p><p>Tony had taken care of Steve's shoes for him, but he had left his shirt and slacks on.  Steve appreciated the overture—he slept horribly cold, and the room’s ambient temperature was set to Tony’s desert-averse preferences.</p><p>Shimmying out of bed, Steve made quick work of swapping day-wear for nightwear.  Right as he was about to return to bed, he saw, folded up on the table, a piece of crisp paper.</p><p>Curiosity drove him to pick it up.  Tony’s arc created enough light to read by, as did the fire alarm in the ceiling.  Steve’s night vision did the rest as he read:</p><p>
  <em>To my one and only:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You always wake up before me, so I thought I’d try and spring one on you.  Let the record show, I am not setting an alarm before four AM.  If you ever want to turn the table, give me a fighting chance, Steven.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Where was I?  I love you.  Parting is such sweet sorrow.  But we’ll be together again tomorrow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Except tomorrow never really comes.  But you knew that.  It’ll be today before you know it, and you’ll ask me why I wrote this, and I’ll ask you, “What’s this?” and erase it from both our memories.  I’m sorry, I do love you, but some things cannot see the light of day.  This is one of them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ahem.  I just wanted to put in writing that it means a lot that you are actually an even bigger dork than I am.  It honestly touches my heart.  I feel like baby birds have learned to fly because the world finally has it in writing that you are, in fact, a huge nerd.  And I love that about you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I guess I’m just trying to say . . . I can’t wait to make more memories with you.  And, also, I really, really, really wanna kiss you, so this is your kiss goodnight, or good morning, but if you wait, you’ll get one anyway.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love you, babe.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tony</em>
</p><p>Swallowing, feeling warm and like he had gotten a hug—a kiss <em>goodnight</em>—that he had not even known he had been seeking, Steve folded up the letter and replaced it.  Although he was still heavy with sleep, he was careful as he crawled back into bed and kissed Tony’s forehead.  '<em>Til tomorrow</em>.</p><p>Then Steve held him close and followed him into sleep, aware that he had experienced not only the best day, but perhaps the very best trip, ever.</p>
<hr/><p>And then, at last, it was truly done.</p><p>No more <em>Space Mountain</em>; no more <em>Spaceship Earth</em>.  No more Animal Kingdom with its forbidding foliage or EPCOT with its innovative ideas; no more glittering Cinderella Castle or shiny Hollywood Boulevard.  No more FastPass booking windows or fireworks shows.  Everything that had once been future tense had been consigned to the past, and after three whirlwind days, every idle daydream had been transformed into a fond memory.</p><p>Gone were the dreamy hours of eating ice cream in France and drinking glowing blue lotus drinks in Avatar Land.  Gone were the chances encounters with <em>Edmontosauruses</em> and forest-giraffes (although, perhaps, if he was lucky, he might see the latter again, but never again on a safari, for the very first <em>time</em>).  Gone were the magical encounters with Tigger and Winnie the Pooh, confined henceforth to the page; gone were the run-ins with the strange blue bear that wasn’t a bear, the alien named Stitch that gave the warmest hugs he’d ever received from a stranger.</p><p>No longer could Steve look forward to the Figment’s comics on his titular ride, nor could he expect to see Tony’s face light up as they raced around the <em>Test Track </em>loop, high above the ground.  He could only cling to the sense memories of Tony hugging his back as they ventured through the bioluminescent forests on <em>Pandora </em>and other areas of Animal Kingdom and EPCOT. </p><p>He hugged the feeling of a Banshee between his legs as it flew confidently through the twists and dives of its world, as real as his own heartbeat and as in sync with him as his own name.  He clung with both hands to the wonder of rising up on <em>Soarin’</em>, floating away for a short, ecstatic infinity.  He felt a smile curl his lips at the thought of fireworks scattering across the ceiling of a temple in Mexico. </p><p>Warmth flooded his chest at the memory of all the little moments between—of laughter, smiles, and ice cream.  There was Tony snoring into his shoulder during the <em>American Adventure </em>show and doing the same for the entirety of the <em>PeopleMover </em>circuit, lap after lap—a night that seemed like it would never end, until it did. </p><p>Even spinning around on noisy, chaotic <em>Buzz Lightyear’s Space Ranger Spin </em>while Tony instructed him where to turn the wheel was oddly comforting.  It reminded him of the joy of seeing Tony laugh at his frustration on the abomination of a <em>Speedway</em>, or the enjoyment of hearing Tony talk shop on the classic <em>Pirates of the Caribbean</em> while they drifted through beautifully reconstructed set pieces.</p><p>He would give a lot to experience Tony’s wonder as he admired the futuristic <em>Mi-Ray </em>concept car or the splotchy black blob that transformed itself into a spiked ball and pancake and back again in the <em>Flight of Passage </em>queue.  He’d love to re-experience his own <em>wonder </em>of watching a music box come to life on <em>It’s a Small World</em> again, even though he wondered if he would ever recapture the feeling.</p><p>Seeing the inside of the Cinderella Castle suite had superseded both in some way.  Even <em>it</em> had paled in some way to the joy of meeting Cindy and King on the <em>Carrousel</em>, and spinning ‘round and ‘round ‘til the night was streaked in gold.</p><p>As he packaged it all together in his mind, Steve looked out at the Seven Seas Lagoon from his balcony and mused, <em>We did it all.  And then some</em>.</p><p>The door slid back behind him and Tony yawned, “God, I knew you were up.  Flight doesn’t leave ‘til <em>after </em>noon, you know.  I planned that.  So we could <em>sleep in</em>.”</p><p>“I know,” Steve said, turning to him, opening his arms for Tony to burrow into, sleep-warm and sleep-heavy, planting himself steadily, not quite trusting the sturdy railing.  “Go back to bed.”</p><p>“Not without you,” Tony grumbled, planting his face against Steve’s chest.  “Miss it?”</p><p>Steve thought about the question sincerely.  “I loved it,” he said instead.</p><p>Tony hummed.  “Know what I love?  Sleeping,” he said.  “Just rave about it.”  Pulling away, squinting out at the water, he added, “That <em>is</em> goddamn beautiful.”</p><p>“So’re you,” Steve said, earnest and unthinking.</p><p>Tony smirked.  Hair tussled, dressed in pajamas and as rumpled as he ever looked, he still exuded magnetism.  “You know, if you keep sayin’ stuff like that, I might just marry you.”</p><p>Steve looked down at the ring still curled around his finger and said simply, “I’ve got good news, Tony.”</p>
<hr/><p><em>End credits scene – opener</em>.</p><p>“<em>Lightsabers?!</em>”</p><p>Sprawled across his favorite couch in the entire compound with his eyes shut, Steve smiled at Tony’s indignant bawl.</p><p>Clint drawled, “<em>Relax</em>, I got you one, too—”</p><p>“Shh, shut up.  Be quiet—J.A.R.V.I.S., kill the lights.”  There was a beat.  Then, with a familiar, growling, <em>whoosh </em>sound, a concentrated beam of light lit up the space behind Steve’s closed eyelids.  “<em>God</em>, damn, it, this is the—second or third coolest thing I have touched this week.”</p><p>Smiling even more at the qualification, Steve left his hands folded placidly over his chest, ignoring the fuss.  God, he had missed home.  He wasn’t going to move for a <em>week</em>.  He could hear distinct whirring noises as Tony sliced the air with his lightsaber, chanting, “OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmy<em>God</em>,” before, “Steve, <em>look</em>.”</p><p>Steve gave up on his dream to become a coral reef living in perfect serenity with his environment and instead leveraged himself upright to look at Tony, who was holding a bright red lightsaber and beaming like Christmas had come six months early. </p><p>“I am one with the Force,” Tony announced.  “And the Force is with me,” he warned, whooshing the sword around.  “Who dares to challenge me?”</p><p>An unlit sword landed on Steve’s belly.  “Think the fiancé should take this one,” Clint drawled.</p><p>“The fiancé,” Steve said, warmed just saying the words, “ain’t movin’ from this couch.”</p><p>“A coward’s duel, then,” Tony agreed, which was all the warning Steve had before Tony vaulted over the back of the couch and landed on him, kneeling up and pointing his glowing sword at Steve’s throat.  “Checkmate.”</p><p>Steve smirked up at him, anchoring both hands on his thighs to keep him in place.  “’m I s’posed to be the loser here?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tony said, eyes dancing as Steve slowly reached for his own sword, lit it up, the blue brilliant next to the red.  “Nope, too late, you’ve—”  He pouted when Steve swapped their swords effortlessly, adding, “Cheater.”</p><p>“Not cheatin’,” Steve said.  “Just innovatin’.”</p><p>“Uh huh.”  Tony leaned forward, forgoing mock battle to kiss him instead.  Even though Steve knew it was a diversion, he still fell willingly into it, because, honestly, when <em>wouldn’t</em> he be happy to kiss Tony?  As Tony brandished both red and blue and declared with a gleam that was positively maniacal, “I am master of both sides of the Force,” Steve just shut his eyes with a contented smile.</p>
<hr/><p><em>End credits scene – closer</em>.</p><p>The <a href="https://images.hgmsites.net/lrg/chevrolet-miray-concept-hybrid-muscle-car-of-the-future-seoul-motor-show-march-2011_100345154_l.jpg"><em>Mi-Ray</em></a> arrived two weeks later.</p><p>Tony said, “Let’s take it out for a spin,” and drove it like the most expensive piece of glass ever made until they reached an uninhabited road. </p><p>Having run a full diagnostic back at the lab to confirm that the car was fully functional—for $300,000, one would hope, but that never guaranteed concept cars had the same durability of production-line vehicles—Tony then brought it to the starting line and, after nearly a decade of quietly awing audiences with its potential to run, set the <em>Mi-Ray </em>free.</p><p>Seated firmly behind the wheel of his car, Tony howled in indefinable joy as they picked up speed.  Even Steve grinned as the little car that could zipped down the open speedway at a phenomenal clip, taking its first adventurous breaths into its new life.</p><p>It flew like a dream, like a car that had been built to fly.</p>
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